


'Cause I'm a Taker, 'Cause I'm a Giver, It's Only Nature

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Series: Your Heart is the Biggest Gift You Can Give Anyone [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety Disorder, Artistic Liberties, Assumptions, Background Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti - Freeform, Background Victor Nikiforov & Christophe Giacometti, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Cosplay, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Play, Emotional Sex, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Eventual Happy Ending, First Dates, First Time, Frottage, Idiots in Love, Jewish Victor Nikiforov, Kink Negotiation, Limousine Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mile High Club, Mirror Sex, Panic Attacks, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Public Sex, Quickies, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Tapes, Switching, Tanabata, Unrequited Crush, slow emotional burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 128,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9173269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri has a predicament, and he concludes his only real means to a resolution is Victor Nikiforov. The thing is, his problem is learning to seduce someone, the answer is Victor taking his virginity, and maybe things grow a lot more complicated as a result.Maybe Yuuri doesn't realize it's complicated all along.This is a story that runs during the main canon of Yuri!!! On Ice, from episode four and beyond until a month after Worlds. Primarily though, this is a story about sex, dating, love, and marriage---yes, in that order.





	1. A Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Ariana Grande's "Dangerous Woman," which just so happens to be on my Victuuri playlist on Spotify. (I think lyrically it fits Eros Yuuri fairly well.)
> 
> I was gonna wait until this was done, but it's turning into a monster, and I want instant gratification. Regardless, here we go. Someone said Yuuri is what you get when Shinji "gets in the fucking robot" so that's...kind of how I've chosen to characterize him here. 
> 
> Also later in the fic Yuuri finds out what _lapochka_ means so I'm choosing not to reveal it to you all until he knows. However, as of 12/12/2017, I am bit by bit editing the work skin so when you hover over a non-English language phrase you have translations at your disposal, as well as hovering over the song lyrics to tell you the name and artist for easy reference. This is my in between break during writing of the story itself. 
> 
> This...will take a while.
> 
> This fic features an extensive spotify playlist, [available here](https://open.spotify.com/user/12168581471/playlist/6BbTZWJiIpOsFYYPuMbw2o). Some songs are quoted within the body of the story, others are more applicable to Yuuri or Victor's mental states at various points throughout. If you have spotify, I encourage you to follow it as it gets updated basically daily.
> 
> The mood boards at the beginning of each chapter are made by myself, and reflect the tone of the chapter. Sometimes there may be a clue in one as to a major event. Keep your eyes sharp! ;)
> 
> This IS primarily canon-compliant, though canon-dialogue will not be reused verbatim necessarily. Canon events do not come up until Chapter Four with minimal rehashing I can get away with. (It's impossible to avoid the actual GP qualifiers.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri decides he needs help. Victor is his best candidate.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37275235292/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuuri isn’t sure what he expected when he decided to make his request, but it’s not this.

Victor stares at him with an oddly blank expression, the light that normally fills his blue eyes somehow non-existent. His mouth is kind-of twisted, not quite a grimace but definitely not a smile. “What?” he finally asks.

Yuuri’s cheeks go aflame. Surely, this should have resulted in an immediate _yes_. Surely, he’s not that...not special. “I asked you to have sex with me.”

Victor’s expression doesn’t change. “I thought it was an auditory hallucination.”

Yuuri makes a noise, lifting up his glasses and shoving his palm into one of his eyes. “Why are you making this so difficult? It’s a yes or no question.”

His glasses fall to the bridge of his nose where they belong, and Victor comes into focus. He clears his throat a few times. “I admit, I don’t follow the rationale.”

Yuuri sighs. “Because every time I watch the video of my “Eros” skate, it still feels like something’s not quite there. And how can it be when I...you know.”

It’s subtle, but Victor’s demeanor changes, like his jaw locks. “Oh. You want to sleep with me for your skating.”

“Well,” Yuuri begins, because that does make it sound like he’s using Victor. That’s not okay, and he would never. “You’re also really handsome?” he tries.

“True,” Victor replies, his tone of voice indicating that he is---at least somewhat---appeased.

The direct approach isn’t working so Yuuri decides to try something else. He wishes Victor understood better how hard it was for him to even insinuate this, that it’s kept him up the last four nights, that the blow to his pride is almost enough for a KO. Especially since it’s occurring to him now that if Victor wants him, he’d do something without prompting, something serious unlike all that teasing when he first got here. 

“I don’t have time to date,” Yuuri says. “And I’d rather the first time be with someone who knows how it works instead of me muddling through. _And_ you’re incredibly good looking, you’re _here_ , and _I trust you_.”

Now Victor lights up. “You trust me,” he says with a little wonder.

“Yeah,” Yuuri offers with a half-smile. “Just about more than anyone, if I’m being honest.”

It’s not said to butter him up, it’s the truth. Yuuri’s never trusted anyone the way he trusts Victor. Phichit comes close, but it’s a different kind of trust. Phichit he trusts like family. Victor’s family in a manner of speaking, but Yuuri wouldn’t ask this of Phichit. 

He wouldn’t even think to, no offense to him. 

He thinks to with Victor because he knows Victor will be there for him. He also knows Victor only does casual, so they won’t have to worry about the other facets of their relationship getting messy. Yuuri’s been in the competitive skating world for a while so he knows about Victor’s romantic life---the ice dancer throwing a drink in his face after a competition is fairly legendary, and there was that thing with Chris Giacometti last year at Worlds.

Victor’s still staring at Yuuri though, and Yuuri sighs. “Fine, forget it. I never asked, we never---”

Victor grabs his wrist before he can go. His touch is gentle, his hand warm. “I’m not saying no,” Victor explains. “You just surprised me, Yuuri.”

His thumb caresses Yuuri’s pulse point, and Yuuri swallows, his body warming a degree at the intimacy of the gesture. “So you will, then?” Yuuri asks. His voice perks up with hope. 

Victor starts to move closer, but just as he does Mari passes by on her way to the storage room. He doesn’t drop Yuuri’s wrist, but he stays his distance which Yuuri laments. “Yes.” Victor nods as if the word didn’t get his message across. “Yes, I'll help you.”

Yuuri breathes, a heavy sigh of relief that makes his shoulders unwind. “Ah...good. That’s good.”

Yuuri’s mother passes that time, and she gives the two of them a bright smile.

Victor turns more serious. “When would you like to?”

Something in Yuuri warms that Victor is giving him this control instead of just dragging him off or dictating the terms. Victor’s eyes are like blue dwarf stars, they’re full of shimmering heat, and Yuuri feels powerful in that instant in a way he hasn’t before.

Yuuri moves his hand so his palm slides against Victor’s. He doesn’t miss the way Victor’s breath catches at the gesture. 

“Does tonight work?”

_\-----_

Tonight _does_ work which is how Yuuri finds himself in Victor’s room when the _onsen_ settles down, and his parents have gone to bed.

Their room is on the other side of the inn, which is good, he figures. 

This idea made a lot more sense before the reality of it came to be, Yuuri thinks as he paces around Victor’s room. Makkachin watches him with curiosity, back and forth and around but pointedly a foot from the bed.

Victor tilts his head to one side, clad in the green robes he wears after taking a bath. Yuuri’s in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He lets Yuuri pace non-stop for fifteen minutes before saying, “Something tells me you’re nervous.”

Yuuri laughs, but it’s high-pitched like he’s manic. “Me? No. No, I passed nervous about forty minutes ago.” It’s true, he beat Victor here...he tried to hide under the bed, but it’s too low to the ground. Plus Makkachin probably would have sold him out for a treat.

Victor stands, blocking Yuuri’s path but also close enough to touch him. “We don’t have to, you know.”

Yuuri rubs his eyes under his glasses with both fists. He could put it off until tomorrow, a week from now---

He’ll keep making excuses.

Yuuri takes two steps towards Victor. Then he takes one back. Then he goes forward again. Victor _does_ touch him then, but it’s just a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“No. It has to be tonight.”

Understanding passes through Victor’s features, like he gets it without having to be told. His eyes are so soft when Yuuri looks in them.

An expression Yuuri learned in Detroit comes to mind as he takes the last step, about taking a bull by its horns. He closes the distance, angles his head up, and kisses Victor on the mouth.

Victor freezes.

Yuuri reaches up to run his hands through Victor’s hair, and it’s like something snaps. Victor comes to life, wrapping his hands around Yuuri’s waist and returning the kiss. He doesn’t deepen it, but he returns the pressure of Yuuri’s lips, and Yuuri parts them in an invitation. 

Victor hesitates but takes it, his tongue painstakingly sliding into Yuuri’s mouth. The nerves start to subside because Victor, as Yuuri expected, is as good at kissing as he is skating. Yuuri sighs into the kiss, his grip in Victor’s hair tightening as the anxious butterflies begin to give way to anticipatory ones.

Victor turns them, Yuuri following his lead, so that Victor’s back is to the foot of the bed. He sits on it, pulling Yuuri down with him. Yuuri ends up half-falling into a straddle of Victor’s hips, one of Victor’s hands landing on the inside of his thigh, his other resting up the back of his t-shirt. Victor drifts his mouth from Yuuri’s lips to his jaw, then down his throat. He nips at his Adam’s apple, careful not to leave a mark.

Yuuri feels hot. He feels hot, and he feels a kind of buzzing beneath his skin, something that makes his palms itch and his stomach warm. He also regrets wearing the jeans, because his cock is getting interested, and the zipper is pressing against him in a not great way. 

Victor’s hands move to Yuuri’s face, and they pluck off his glasses. Yuuri barely notices, to be honest, because Victor licks up his throat to his ear before kissing it. Yuuri would be embarrassed by the sound that comes out of him when Victor’s tongue starts caressing it, but he really can’t be bothered. 

Okay, he’s a _little_ bothered, but not enough to put an end to it.

Yuuri grabs Victor’s shoulders, clawing at the fabric on them. “Do you need something, _lapochka_?”

The request makes Yuuri unable to speak properly, his anxiety coming back. It’s why they’re there, he tells himself. Just say it. “Clothes,” he begins. “Off.”

“Why rush?” Victor asks. “It’s early. We’ve got all night---tomorrow’s your rest day.”

Yuuri makes a frustrated noise. He’s lost the ability to English, and Victor doesn’t know the right Japanese for this situation. Yuuri uses it anyways. “ _Zurui._ ”

Victor laughs, because apparently the tone of voice Yuuri used got the message across. Victor grips Yuuri’s waist and twists so he lands on his back on the bed. Victor unties his robe, Yuuri leaning up so he can pull off his shirt. Then he undoes and slides off his jeans, dropping all his clothes to the floor. He’s just in a pair of boxers now, Victor in the green pants that go with the robe. 

Victor kneels on the bed in-between Yuuri’s thighs, propping himself up on one arm. Yuuri looks up into his face as Victor’s eyes trace the lines of his clavicle, the shape of his pecs, the planes of his stomach. It’s like he’s memorizing Yuuri even though they see each other naked every day. Yuuri can’t stop the flush from spreading at his attention. 

If this is how Victor is with his partners, no wonder they all get mad when it’s over.

Yuuri puts them out of his mind. He clears his throat, the ability to speak in English having returned. He thinks back to what he’s heard people do in movies and on television. “Like what you see?” he asks, though his voice wavers a bit, not quite cracking.

Victor smiles, leaning down to kiss Yuuri. His fringe tickles Yuuri’s eyelashes, and Yuuri loses himself in the kiss. It’s a little bit like falling off a ledge, having the full attention of Victor Nikiforov, but Yuuri knows he’ll catch him before impact.

Victor’s hands travel down Yuuri’s sides with just the slightest bit of his nails scratching. They drive back up his torso, his thumbs caressing Yuuri’s nipples, making him arch off the bed with a gasp. Victor bends down again, kissing a mark onto Yuuri’s collarbone. Yuuri doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he fists one in Victor’s hair, the other digging into his shoulder.

He’ll probably leave marks, but so is Victor and fair is fair.

Victor’s hands drop to the waistband of Yuuri’s boxers. “There’s so much I want to do for you. Will you let me?” he whispers against Yuuri’s skin.

It’s...sweet, Yuuri realizes, but it’s unnecessary. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Victor chuckles, a not unpleasant sensation against Yuuri’s skin. “Okay.”

He pulls the waistband of the boxers down, and Yuuri lifts his hips to aid him. They get dropped to the floor with the rest of their clothing, and Victor stares openly at him. “ _Krasivyi_ ,” Victor whispers with reverence. 

It’s a compliment, but Yuuri doesn’t ask for the translation. “Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

Victor’s eyes dart back up to Yuuri’s face. He smiles, then licks his hand. He grabs Yuuri’s erection, stroking it up and down once. Yuuri groans, but grabs Victor’s wrist. “That---” his voice is oddly choked. “I know how that feels.”

Victor’s demeanor shifts in a way Yuuri can’t read. “You’ve---”

Yuuri sighs, mortified redness filling his face. “It’s not like I’ve never jerked off, Victor. Just...not all the time. I need to do things I can’t do alone because of the whole seducing someone else thing---”

Somehow Victor relaxes at this, even though nothing on him visibly changes, and his eyes darken, almost black in the one lamp he has on as he groans a little.

“Let me watch you do that once,” Victor pleads, still stroking Yuuri’s cock. His hand moves slow, Yuuri’s hips giving answering thrusts, trying to get more, though more what he’s not sure. More everything, he guesses. 

“What like...right now?” Yuuri asks. He’s about to object because that’s a bit much, but Victor shakes his head.

“No, another time,” Victor clarifies. “For tonight, I plan to do all the work.”

Oh. Oh good, because Yuuri has zero clue how to reciprocate. Kissing he understands, he knows how to do that because of college and this game called Seven Minutes in Heaven Phichit dragged him into more than once. Everything else though---he understands in theory how it works, but in practice---

“Yuuri, where are you?” Victor asks, his eyes focused on Yuuri’s face.

“Hm?” Victor does something with his wrist that weakens Yuuri’s knees. “I’m right here.”

“I mean---” Victor’s free hand points at Yuuri’s temple. “Where are you?”

“I was just, ah---” Victor just used the barest hint of his nails, and it feels amazing. “Thinking about how little of this stuff I’ve done.”

Victor nods, bending down to kiss him again. This kiss is hotter than the others, more insistent, and Yuuri loses himself in the plushness of Victor’s lips, the _katsudon_ on his breath, the feel of his hand against his cheek. His brain shuts up for good.

Victor makes him come with his hand, murmuring something about wanting to watch him fall apart, Yuuri’s orgasm shutting out space and time, everything but his own pleasure. He falls against the bed boneless, not quite gasping for breath. When he opens his eyes, Victor wipes his hand clean with a tissue. He stretches out on the bed next to Yuuri, his eyes slowly roving across his face. “You look gorgeous like this,” Victor breathes.

Yuuri’s face reddens. He covers it with his hands.

“No, don’t do that!” Victor gently pries them away, pushing them down. “You should be happy. I’m complimenting you.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says. “But...what about you?”

“What about me?” Victor asks.

Yuuri’s eyebrows knit together, and he makes a _what do you mean, what about me?_ gesture.

“Ah,” Victor says. “I can wait.”

Yuuri stares at him.

Victor shrugs. “It’s no big deal, really. I’d rather get mine when you’re ready again, that’s all.”

That makes sense. Yuuri nods, and he reaches out, pulling Victor close. He needs this right now, and Victor is all too-happy to oblige. Victor’s face gets buried in Yuuri’s neck, and they hold each other. They don’t speak, though Yuuri feels like maybe they should, but the warm puff of Victor’s breath where his shoulder and neck meet is enough.

After a while, Yuuri can’t say how long, Victor pulls back and brushes Yuuri’s fringe off his face. He searches his eyes before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Yuuri closes his eyes, his hands gripping Victor tighter of almost their own volition. Victor deepens the kiss, draping himself between Yuuri’s legs, and Yuuri can feel Victor’s interest in their current activity. 

It’s not that it’s only just occurred to him that Victor could find him attractive, it’s more like the extent of it has set in. Victor wants him here, wants to please him, and it makes Yuuri lightheaded. He gives as good as he gets in the kiss, sliding one of his hands down from Victor’s back to his ass, using it to leverage him closer. He’s still wearing pants, but Yuuri knows there’s nothing underneath, and he takes some initiative, pulling so Victor’s groin lines up with his. His own cock stirs, coming back to life, and he moans into Victor’s mouth. 

Victor breaks the kiss to pant, his eyes going from shimmery to glassy. The look he gives Yuuri is equal parts perplexed and naked want. 

Truthfully, it makes Yuuri feel like a god. 

Victor smiles at him, regaining his footing. “You seem impatient.”

Yuuri swallows. “I said ‘let’s have sex,’ not ‘Victor, give me a hand job’.”

“As you wish,” Victor replies. His hands caress the insides of Yuuri’s thighs, Yuuri dropping his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes. His fingers rake across Victor’s back, leaving scratches that he will try to remember to clean up later. 

Victor pulls down the green pants, throwing them across the room, and he falls back in between Yuuri’s legs, his cock rubbing against Yuuri’s and causing his brain to short out. The words that escape Yuuri’s mouth aren’t fit for polite company, but it’s okay because he says them in Japanese. Victor is clueless.

Victor grabs one of Yuuri’s hands, pushing it down into the mattress. He laces their fingers together as he begins to move, rolling his hips so their cocks slide against each other. Yuuri’s head dips forward into the crook of Victor’s neck, and he bites down on him to stifle the sounds he makes 

“I want to hear you,” Victor says.

“The whole house will,” Yuuri counters. God, it feels good. He hooks his leg behind Victor’s thighs, drawing him down further like he’s the moon.

Victor’s grip tightens on his fingers. “Just don’t shriek, _lapochka_ , and everything will be fine.” He grabs Yuuri’s face so they can trade sloppy kisses, Yuuri’s cries muffled by Victor’s mouth. 

It’s all a little overwhelming, Yuuri decides. It’s a bit like sensory overload---Victor is everywhere, above and around and inside, and Yuuri can't think, he can't focus on anything but how good it feels, the light he chases to completion. It’s close, barely out of reach, and Yuuri whines low in his throat. 

“Go on,” Victor whispers into his lips. “I'm not too far behind.”

It's all Yuuri needs as his grip tightens on Victor’s hand and back hard enough to hurt. He can't stifle his shout, his vision going white as his breath stops. It takes him a while to return to reality as his body trembles from little aftershocks. 

When Yuuri comes back to himself, he's aware Victor has stopped. He's also aware that he's covered in both of their come from his stomach to his chest. 

He doesn't mind. 

Victor has collapsed halfway on top of him, though his weight feels nice. It's warm and comfortable, though Yuuri still trembles. He pulls him close again, not sure how to explain or that he even can. 

Victor kisses his cheek, and he calms. He kisses the bridge of Yuuri’s nose, and his heart slows its racing. He kisses the corner of Yuuri's lips, and Yuuri finally relaxes. 

Victor brushes the sweaty hair off his face, doing the same for Yuuri. His smile is so soft, it makes Yuuri's heart constrict. What does it mean, he wonders, when Victor’s gaze is so full at him?

Before he can ask, he yawns. Victor turns off the lamp, gathers him into his arms, and they sleep. 

_\-----_

Yuuri’s alarm goes off at 6:45.

He grumbles, squinting at his phone in the dark, and turns it off. During the night he rolled over onto his side, one of Victor’s arms wrapped around him from behind. “Ignore it,” Victor rasps.

“I am,” Yuuri replies as he settles back into position. It’s tempting to just go back to sleep, but the more prudent part of Yuuri thinks he should sneak back to his room so no one catches him. He’s heard it called the Walk of Shame by his friends in Detroit, and he even caught Phichit doing it once as he underestimated when Yuuri got up on his rest day to make breakfast. 

Though, Yuuri supposes, you have to be ashamed be on a walk of one, and Phichit absolutely was not. Yuuri realizes he’s not either. Oh sure it’d be awkward and embarrassing, but he feels no shame about sleeping with Victor. 

It feels pretty great, all told.

Yuuri settles back down, his eyes closing again. Since it’s his rest day, he doesn’t have to be at the rink at all. He’ll still go for a run, do stretches, maybe visit Minako for a bit at her studio, but he won’t be skating today. 

Victor seems to have a different idea. 

He kisses the back of Yuuri’s neck first, seemingly innocent. Then between his shoulder blades, and that one’s not innocent judging from the fact it’s open-mouthed. Yuuri groans. “Victor,” he complains.

“We’re awake,” Victor says into his skin. “In my bed. It’d be a waste.”

Yuuri can’t really dispute the logic---even though part of him wants to go back to sleep another part of him is definitely interested in Victor’s plans. He always imagined he’d have more baggage around having sex since he finds a way to have baggage about lots of things, but it turns out sex feels great and is fun. Especially with Victor.

And this is likely his last shot since Victor doesn’t do repeats so why the hell not, right?

Yuuri rolls so he faces Victor, squinting to see him clearly. Victor notices and gets close, though a little too so because Yuuri goes cross-eyed. He laughs, taking one hand and shoving him a little bit away. “Jerk.”

“Mmm...no,” Victor says.

“Yes,” Yuuri counters with another laugh.

“No, I’m not,” Victor replies.

“Yes, you are,” Yuuri says.

“If I was a jerk I wouldn’t do this,” Victor says before disappearing under the sheets.

Yuuri blinks, not following the train of thought until Victor’s tongue dips into his navel. He covers his mouth with a hand to stifle the sound of his moans. “This doesn’t change my opinion,” he says around a gasp.

Victor doesn’t speak, but his next move is to take the tip of Yuuri’s cock into his mouth, and Yuuri is now preoccupied with not shoving it down Victor’s throat. He knows enough to not be rude, at least. 

Victor blows Yuuri as precisely and elegantly as he skates, Yuuri barely able to last during it. He doesn’t watch lest he lose it like a teenager, but his mind fills in some blanks. The point being, Victor is basically on his knees for him, and that alone is enough to get him there. 

It’s over much too soon, Victor managing to swallow every drop, and Yuuri removes his hands from his own hair. “Wow,” he says when he’s regained the power of speech.

Victor slides back up to him with a smile. He strokes Yuuri’s cheek with the back of his hand. Yuuri figures he ought to reciprocate, even though he’s never done it before. He hesitates, butterflies hitting him, but he does what Victor did and slides down under the sheets. He comes face to face first with Victor’s chest, which he presses kisses to, then he works his way down his stomach to the very enthusiastic erection Victor has. 

“You don’t have to---” Victor begins. His words turn into Russian cursing as Yuuri experiments by licking up his shaft. Yuuri returns the favor by imitating what Victor did for him, adding a slight nibble of teeth here, hollowing his cheeks there. It’s enough to get Victor off, but he doesn’t warn Yuuri quick enough who is...shocked to say the least when his come spurts into his mouth. 

With all his heart Yuuri wishes he was more graceful about it, but he nearly chokes as some of it spatters his chin. It’s not that it tastes offensive or anything, he just didn’t have preparation. Next time he does this, he’ll be better.

Yuuri wipes his face with his hand and pushes himself back up the sheets. Victor is flushed, a pretty contrast to his eyes and hair, and his breathing is heavy. “Oh _lapochka_ ,” he says. “You’re a mess, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri replies. It is, it’s not a big deal. He’s surprised when Victor leans in and kisses him, though. He can taste his own release on Victor’s breath, and it’s not altogether unpleasant. It’d be better if they’d brushed their teeth first, he thinks.

He doesn’t stop the kiss.

The bed dips with an added weight, and Yuuri opens one eye to see Makkachin is next to Victor with a smile. He paws at Victor’s back once, and Victor laughs. “Do you need to go out?” he asks his dog as he turns over onto his back. Makkachin whines and wags his tail, and Victor’s smile brightens. “It is about that time, I believe.”

Yuuri’s disappointed, but he doesn’t let it show. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.”

He gets dressed, Victor doing the same, and as Victor opens his bedroom door, he pauses as Makkachin runs out ahead. He grabs Yuuri’s hands, pressing kisses to his knuckles with bright eyes. Yuuri bites his bottom lip, though he’d sooner die than admit the gesture makes him flustered.

Victor heads outside, Yuuri walking down the hall to his bedroom. He’s definitely a huge mess, so he decides to take a bath before the onsen officially opens so as to not scandalize anyone. He’s alone in the changing room, hosing himself off quickly with a shower, and he steps out to the bath. 

Yuuri soaks in the spring water, the heat contrasting with the early air making the minerals smell particularly potent. He sinks into the water, and he slicks his hair back with his wet hands.

He’s not a virgin anymore. He’s---more or less---seduced someone. 

This is where Yuuri panics because he knows his family will be able to tell, as it’s got to be written all over his face. They’ll know the second they see him, he feels it in his gut. How could they not know? They’ll know. They’ll have to know. They’ll know.

Trying to calm the erratic beat of his heart, he submerges himself. Maybe if he drowns no one will suspect. No, he can’t...he wants to win the Grand Prix Final. 

Most importantly, Victor will probably blame himself.

Yuuri comes out of the water when his lungs give out, turning around so his chest presses against the rocks. He rests his head on his forearms and tries to figure out how he can hide it from his folks. Deciding that he can’t, he gets out of the water, towels off, and changes back into his clothes. 

Maybe some friendly advice can help.

Since he found out Phichit is back in Bangkok for a bit, they’ve been texting more. Yuuri grabs his phone---he’s two hours ahead of Phichit, but it’s going on nine in Hasetsu. He should be up. He selects Phichit in his contacts and hits the button to FaceTime him.

It rings twice and then there is Phichit in a cap and warm up jacket. “Yuuri, hey!”

“Hi, Phichit,” Yuuri says with a smile. “ _Pĕn xỳāngrị b̂āng?_ ”

“ _Dī k̄hxbkhuṇ! Læ̂w khuṇ l̀a_?” Phichit replies.

“I’m good,” Yuuri answers, switching back to English. “Phichit…” he starts, trailing off. “Um, well...I did a thing, and I’m not sure what’ll happen if my parents know.”

Phichit turns to give Yuuri the side eye. He steeples his hands in front of his face for a moment like some kind of evil mastermind or maybe like he’s thanking God for something. “What kind of thing?”

Yuuri looks and makes sure his door is closed. “An ‘I slept with someone’ thing.”

Phichit is definitely praying. He reaches over to his computer and pushes something. Music starts playing in English. _Finally! You’ve come along! The way I feel about you just can’t be wrong! If you only knew the way I feel about you---I just can’t describe it, oh no no! Finally, it’s happened to me, right in front of my face---and I just cannot hide it! Finally---_

All Phichit can see is the top of Yuuri’s head because he’s slammed it into his desk. “You seriously have a song cued up for this?”

“I’ve just waited so long for this day!” Is Phichit choked up? Yuuri’s imagining this, he has to be. “I’m so proud. My son is a man.”

“I’m three years older than you,” comes Yuuri’s muffled rejoinder. 

“I know, but you can be a bit on the...what’s the phrase? Oh right. Straight-laced! You can be a bit straight-laced.” Phichit runs out of frame, Yuuri hearing him opening cabinets and moving things around. He runs back into view with a bag of prawn crackers and a bottle that says Chang on it. He does the thing where he looks like he’s in prayer again. Then he lets loose a loud exhale. “Tell me _everything_.”

“No.” Yuuri turns his face to the side, glasses going askew, as he glares at his best friend.

“Oh come on! You know stuff about me.” Phichit is whining. It’s very unattractive.

“That I didn’t ask for,” Yuuri points out.

“But you didn’t tell me to stop, either,” Phichit retorts.

Yuuri can’t argue, it’s the truth. “I don’t want to go into detail, because Victor probably won’t---”

Phichit, who had been eating some of the crackers with rapt attention, spits them across his floor. He coughs a bunch of times. “Victor. Victor Nikiforov. You slept with Victor Nikiforov, your coach, Victor Nikiforov, the five time Grand Prix Final champion and Russian Living Legend, _Victor Nikiforov_.”

“I don’t know any other Victors,” Yuuri says with a sigh. He rubs his eyes under his glasses.

“Dude, go big or go home,” Phichit responds.

He’s not entirely wrong, Yuuri decides. “I just---”

“Your giant decade long crush,” Phichit says with a sage nod. “Can’t say I wouldn’t if I were in your shoes. He’s right there, you know? And he’s always been supernaturally hot. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for leaving crumbs in it.”

Yuuri feels something in his heart, like the taste of rotten eggs filling his soul. He involuntarily cracks his knuckles. 

Phichit raises an eyebrow proving it hasn’t been missed. “Or...not.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says with a fake smile. “It’s not like anything else happened. He doesn’t do dating or anything. It was just a one time thing, and I’m aware of that. Have at him when we meet up in Beijing.”

Phichit leans back in his chair with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Yuuri protests.

“You just did it again,” Phichit says. He softens, his eyes turning kind. “Look, Yuuri, it’s pretty normal to get attached to the first person you sleep with. It happens all the time to lots of people. It even happened to me. Just...you know...understand that it’ll fade in a few days. They’re not real feelings. And try not to let it get in the way of him coaching you or make things awkward.”

Yuuri stares at Phichit. Attached? He’s not attached. “I’m not attached, like I said I knew what it was going into it. It’s the entire reason I asked him in the first place.”

Phichit nods and smiles. “Okay.”

Yuuri thinks he’s being patronized, but he can’t prove it. He rubs his eyes again.

Phichit leans in while munching on more chips. “It was good, wasn’t it? Everyone says he’s good.”

“I don’t have a basis for comparison,” Yuuri answers, though his cheeks turn red. “But...yeah.”

Phichit whoops. “I’m so glad! I would have been sad if it sucked. Or even if it was just okay. You deserve better than just okay.”

Yuuri half-smiles. That’s oddly touching. “Phichit---”

“Hey, I’m telling the truth.” Phichit sips his soda water. “I’d yell at him if he was selfish, or not into it, or using you. You know I would.”

He knows. “Yeah,” Yuuri answers, then he remembers the reason he called. “So um...is it obvious?”

Phichit leans in so close to the phone all Yuuri can see is his left eye. He moves back into a more normal position. “Well, you seem happy so people might ask about your good mood, but there’s no sign above your head that proclaims you’re not a virgin anymore, no.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says with a reassured smile. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Phichit replies. He checks his watch. “Look, Yuuri, I gotta go, I’m late for heading to the rink. Good talk though! We’ll catch up more some other time.”

“Sure, Phichit,” Yuuri says. “ _Khuy kạn h̄ım̀!_ ”

“ _Bāy!_ ” Phichit says with a wide grin as he hangs up.

That’s a load off. Yuuri puts a pair of earbuds in the headphone jack on his phone, changing into a pair of track pants and his warm up. He sets his glasses down on his desk, and he walks out of his room into the main area of the onsen. 

Victor is at a table talking to his mom.

Yuuri’s steps slow before stopping. He stares at them for a creepy amount of time, long enough they notice. “Good morning, Yuuri!” his mother says.

“Yes, good morning,” Victor adds with a smile. He sips his tea.

Yuuri can feel the flush on his face. “Hi,” he stammers.

His mom immediately grows concerned. “Are you feeling alright? Your face is red. You’re not sick, are you?”

Yuuri clears his throat. “Ah no, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

He ducks out before the questioning can escalate, but he doesn’t miss the look of satisfaction in Victor’s eyes.

Or the proud smile.


	2. The Harsh Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri realizes he and Victor may not have been on the same page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait until like Saturday, and then I decided I couldn't because I'm too excited. Your previous comments hyped me up. (Thank you, for them, the kudos, the subscriptions, and the bookmarks, btw.)
> 
> This time when Phichit trolls Yuuri, he does it in the key of "Slow Jamz" by Kanye West. Also don't bullshit the Thai Prince, Yuuri, he sees into your soul.
> 
> The song Yuuri plays is "The Only Exception" by Paramore. It's basically his theme in this story, pay attention when it crops up.
> 
> This features an appearance of Victor the Overly Blunt Coach (tm). Because that's always fun.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37258629336/in/dateposted-public/)

The thing is, Yuuri tries not to think about it. He tries very hard to act like nothing’s different. He does everything in his power to be normal and play it cool.

Victor seems to have other ideas in his stupid, sexy head.

Has Victor always touched him this much? They’re seemingly casual touches, but it seems like a lot. A hand on his back he can feel through his shirt, an elbow resting on his shoulder, fingers dragging across his shirt collar---

Every single time it brings up the night before, and Yuuri’s rapidly passing from subtle embarrassment to deep frustration. Why is he doing this? _What is the point_? If the point is to piss Yuuri off, he’s almost succeeded.

Victor skives off after he eats dinner to take a bath, and Yuuri can breathe again. Minako’s come by for dinner and sake, and Yuuri joins her though he’s not much of a drinker. They both have some sushi, Yuuri not caring that Victor might bitch about his diet with the rice and all.

Minako is kind and relaxed for a change, discussing his programs with him and scheduling some ballet training when Victor comes back in wearing his green robes. Yuuri tries and fails to not watch his movements. Victor sits next to Minako with a smile, turning to play with Makkachin for a bit. 

“Your usual, Vic-chan?” calls Yuuri’s mother.

“Yes, please,” he answers with a smile. He turns to his dog again, and Minako glances at Victor briefly before doing a double-take and openly staring. His robe’s slipped off his shoulder and the scratches on his back are rather prominent, red welts a stark contrast from his pale skin. 

Yuuri wishes he had drowned himself after all. He audibly chokes, turning beet red, and pushes his food around his plate, no longer interested in it.

Minako looks at Yuuri out of the corner of her eyes before staring. Her eyes are huge, her mouth gaping open.

Yuuri is about ten seconds from following through with the drowning, yes while fully clothed, when Victor turns to them. He sees the look on Minako’s face, then he sees Yuuri’s utter and devastating humiliation. Victor isn’t stupid so he gets it, adjusting his robe before Yuuri’s parents notice. “Ah well,” Victor says, his tone chipper. “People were bound to find out at some point, I suppose.”

He sips his beer so casually Minako comes back to her senses. “How long?” she whispers with the hint of a threat in her voice. Her eyes are aimed at Yuuri, but her words are meant for Victor.

“Last night was the first time,” Victor answers like he’s commenting on the clouds in the sky.

Yuuri buries his face in his hands.

Minako grabs her sake, considering her words very carefully. “You break him, I break you,” she tells Victor. Her voice is seemingly pleasant, but it’s laced with ice-cold steel.

Victor smiles, a genuine soft one that Yuuri doesn’t understand the meaning of. “Not going to happen.” He looks at Yuuri again with that expression Yuuri can’t read, but it makes Yuuri feel...better.

“So long as we’re all in agreement,” Minako replies as she takes a long sip of her drink.

Something brushes against Yuuri’s foot under the table. Blinking, he peers below---it’s Victor’s foot. He’s playing footsie with him. _Why is Victor playing footsie with him_?

Yuuri studies his food, trying to make himself finish but being unable to go through with it. He grabs a drink off the table and chugs some of it, not paying attention to whose it is or that it’s beer until he tastes it. How has his life gone to shambles from one night? Is this some kind of cosmic punishment? Maybe he can become a monk as penance.

He excuses himself and all but runs to his room. It’s too much to deal with.

Ten minutes later there’s a knock on his door. It’s probably Minako so he opens it. 

It’s Victor.

“Are you alright?” Victor asks, his eyes full of concern. 

Yuuri barks out a laugh. “No.”

Now Victor’s eyes are full of sympathy. “You regret it,” he says, his voice...is it sad? Is he sad?

“No,” Yuuri answers. “I just didn’t want everyone to know. And I’m frustrated.”

“Why don’t you want people to know?” Victor asks.

Yuuri pulls him into his room, slamming his door behind him. “I’m not ashamed, if that’s what you think. I just...it’s _our_ thing. It’s _private_. I don’t want my parents or Minako or Mari being in my business. I don’t mind telling one or two select people, but the world doesn’t need to be let in on this. That’s all.”

Victor looks relieved, his eyes clearing to their normal sparkling selves. “I understand.” He reaches out and takes Yuuri’s face in his hands. Before Yuuri can ask, he kisses him. 

Yuuri sinks into it before remembering the rest of the day, then he breaks it. “That. What is that?” he asks.

“Hm?” Victor’s response doesn’t clear anything up.

“The touching,” Yuuri says. “And now this...what is this? Stop teasing me, it’s not fair.”

“Teasing implies I won’t follow through,” Victor points out. “Trust me, Yuuri, I intend to follow through.”

“What?” Yuuri asks. It makes him feel like an idiot, but Victor doesn’t mean what he thinks he does...does he?

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t,” Victor explains. “I’ll stop, but...I don’t want to. The opposite is what I’d prefer, but it’s your decision.”

“But---” Yuuri clears his throat. “More than once?”

“Yes, that would be what I’m getting at,” Victor can’t help but quip.

Yuuri shoves him with one hand, not hard but enough to get the point across. Then he falls into his arms, burying his face in his neck. Victor wants to break his one night stand rule with him? It’s immensely flattering, and there’s that power going to his head again. 

“You’re sending a mixed message,” Victor complains with a laugh to soften it.

Yuuri looks him in the eye before kissing him, Victor making a noise of surprise but quickly getting on board. Yuuri clutches at his robes, dragging him over to his bed. All of Victor’s little touches have had him half-turned on all day, driving him crazy, and he can’t wait any longer now that he’s here. They fall onto Yuuri’s bed, making an immediate rumpled mess of the covers, and Yuuri’s hands scramble at the tie on Victor’s robe. 

He didn’t double knot it, thank God.

Victor makes another shocked noise into the kiss as Yuuri undoes the robe and yanks it down his arms. He throws it somewhere across the room, not caring where it ends up. Yuuri manages---barely---to stop kissing Victor long enough to take off his own shirt, but then he’s back at it like the secret to the universe can be found in Victor’s mouth. 

Yuuri pushes his knee in between Victor’s thighs, and he’s greeted by a definitely-into-it erection. This shocks him out of his lust-crazed stupor, and he remembers himself. “I---”

Victor grabs Yuuri by the waist, twisting them so their positions are reversed. He doesn’t let Yuuri’s brain crash further, Victor kissing and sucking his way down Yuuri’s neck and torso. It works, Yuuri choking out a gasp as Victor sucks a mark on his exposed hip above his track pants. Victor drags them down Yuuri’s legs, throwing them elsewhere, and he reaches up, raking his nails down Yuuri’s thighs below where his boxers end. 

Yuuri’s cock twitches as Victor bends to mouth it through his underwear. He throbs there, aching to be touched without a barrier, but Victor doesn’t seem to notice. He sucks on the spot where Yuuri’s head lies, and Yuuri doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

Victor helps him out, grabbing them and placing them in his hair. He looks up at Yuuri with a wink as he peels the underwear down just enough that Yuuri’s cock is free. Then he goes to work, lapping up the precome and sucking the tip into his mouth. Yuuri cries out as Victor deep throats him for a bit before backing off to just the tip again, pumping his cock with his fist. 

“Vic-Victor---” Yuuri stammers. Having been worked up all day, he’s close. “Victor, I’m---” Victor pulls away his mouth, slowing the movement of his hand. Yuuri opens his eyes, giving him a betrayed look. “But---”

Victor drops his pants, climbing back up to face Yuuri. He gives him a sloppy open-mouthed kiss as he takes Yuuri’s hands, lacing their fingers together on either side of his head. Victor’s mouth latches onto Yuuri’s shoulder as he ruts against him, Yuuri making sounds he’s sure he’ll be embarrassed by when they stop. 

Yuuri arches to better meet Victor’s thrusts with his, his legs wrapping around Victor’s waist. He grips Victor’s hands so tight he’s surprised he doesn’t complain as he ascends back to that peak, chasing it like fireflies on a summer night, rising and rising until he can’t help but shout as he comes. 

Victor is different when he gets there, biting hard down on Yuuri’s shoulder to muffle his sounds. Yuuri can’t be bothered to care about the mark he’s sure to have. He can’t be bothered to care about anything, really, except how relaxed and _good_ he feels. He hadn’t realized the extent to which he’d been worked up until now.

Yuuri stares up at his ceiling as the blood stops rushing in his ears. He’s doing that thing again, the thing where he needs Victor to hold him, so he frees his hands and wraps his arms around his back. Victor understands without being told, gathering Yuuri in his arms and pressing a gentle kiss to the bite mark on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Something sparks for a fleeting moment in Yuuri, but it disappears as quickly as it came. He bends down and before he can talk himself out of it, he kisses Victor’s sweaty hair. Victor lifts his head, and he slides back up Yuuri to kiss him again---it’s slow, it’s hot, and it gets both of them going again after a few minutes.

The second time they fuck is less frantic, more slow and deliberate, and they take time to learn each other’s bodies better, though Yuuri doesn’t know much about his own when it comes to this particular area. They both realize that the spot that drives Yuuri absolutely insane is his ears, though. Victor just has to breathe the right way on one, and his toes curl.

Yuuri learns things about Victor too, when he manages to embolden himself. Victor’s nipples are rather sensitive he finds, as when Yuuri barely scratches them it causes Victor to push him deeper into the mattress and kiss his breath away. Victor also has a weakness when Yuuri uses his native language, but he never asks for a translation. It must be something about his voice, Yuuri supposes, though he doesn’t have a lot of time to contemplate, and probably the stuff Yuuri says is universal besides.

They’re worn out this time, Victor lying half-draped over Yuuri because his bed is smaller than Victor’s, and Yuuri looks into Victor’s eyes while biting his bottom lip. He kisses him, quick and soft, and then he shifts so he’s on his side with his back to Victor. Victor spoons him from behind, Yuuri’s sheets pushed down around their waists, and they drift off to sleep.

_\-----_

They don’t oversleep, but it’s close.

Victor pauses at Yuuri’s door, which Makkachin was curled up on the other side of, to kiss him before heading the short distance down the hall to his own room. They both change for the day, Yuuri grabbing his bag with his equipment. Victor also has his skates, and instead of riding his bicycle, he walks with Yuuri. 

“What was it like,” Victor wonders out loud, “Growing up here?”

Yuuri shrugs. “Quiet mostly except during the tourist season. Then everything would be packed, including Yu-Topia. In the off-season, though, pretty quiet.”

Victor nods. 

Yuuri realizes he knows everything about Victor’s career and some stuff like his favorite color from magazine interviews, but he doesn’t actually know anything about _him_. “What about you?” he asks.

Victor looks surprised, like he didn’t expect Yuuri to take any interest. “St. Petersburg is where I’ve lived my whole life until now. I spent pretty much my entire childhood at the rink, honestly, though it paid off. I think he’d deny it, but Yakov is like a second father to me.”

Not too different from Yuuri, then. Yuuri nods. The gulls fly overhead, both of them glancing up at the birds as they walk across the bridge to the Ice Castle. “What was your favorite food before our katsudon?”

Victor smiles. “Fried cheese blintzes.”

“What’s a blintz?” Yuuri adjusts his backpack strap.

“It’s like a pancake,” Victor explains. “Sometimes you put caviar on them, that’s more traditional, but I always like the cheese ones best. They’re sweeter, almost like dessert but for a meal.”

“They sound good,” Yuuri says. They sound better than good, but he knows Victor won’t let him have any during the season. Maybe in Moscow if he wins he can try them instead of getting a katsudon bowl when they return to Hasetsu. Yuuri files that away for later.

“Yuuri---” Victor begins, then stops. 

He takes so long that Yuuri looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah?”

They’re at the Ice Castle now, and Victor opens the door for Yuuri, gesturing he should enter first. Yuuri does, but he gives Victor a concerned look.

“Never mind,” Victor says. “Good morning, Yuuko.”

Yu-chan smiles at them both. “Good morning, Victor. Yuuri.”

Victor and Yuuri sit down on a bench, taking off their shoes and putting on their skates. Victor keeps the CD with his free program song on it here, and they walk on their skate guards to the rink. Victor sets his guards on the table with the computer and the iPod dock, Yuuri setting his on the ledge of the boards. 

They get on the ice, Victor calling drills while Yuuri obeys. Victor has him work the spread eagle into the triple axel several times, still dissatisfied with how he messed it up during Hot Springs on Ice. Then it’s quad Salchow practice, as he lands the toe loops just fine still.

Then Victor runs him through “Eros.” Yuuri brushes his sweaty hair off his forehead, then begins. He gets halfway when Victor calls out the word, “Stop!”

Yuuri stops. “What?” He hasn’t fallen yet. He hasn’t done anything wrong at all.

Victor skates to him with his head cocked to one side. He drops his voice down low. “The Yuuri you’re showing me right now is very different from the Yuuri who shoved me onto his bed a few hours ago. It’s also not the Yuuri I whistled at during Hot Springs on Ice.”

Yuuri’s face heats up. He jerks his head around to make sure no one heard him. Yu-chan’s behind the counter so she didn’t, he guesses. “Shh,” he says.

“What? It’s the truth,” Victor explains. “You’re tepid. I know you can be _hot_. You need to practice every time like you’re performing, otherwise it’s meaningless. I’ll start the song from the beginning. Do it again.” He skates away. “Remember why you made your request.”

Yuuri clears his throat. He can do this...he did it at Hot Springs, and he can do it now that he’s had sex. The guitar starts, Yuuri does the opening arm motions, and when he looks at Victor, he does something completely unlike him and blows a kiss.

Victor’s eyes widen.

Yuuri gets to skate the full program, trying to think of beautiful women and katsudon. Instead he remembers the way Victor’s breath catches when he touches him. He thinks of the sounds that Victor makes with Yuuri underneath him, and he has to go back to the woman in the story before he embarrasses himself. 

The song ends, Yuuri striking the finishing pose, and once he catches his breath, he turns to his coach.

Victor looks dumbstruck, like Yuuri pulled a rug out from under him. Yuuri recognizes the look in his eyes though, from Victor’s bed that first night and Yuuri’s bed the second. He can’t help but half-smile. “Was that better?” he asks with an innocent lilt in his voice.

For a second Yuuri thinks he’s pushed Victor too far, because the look on his face is almost indescribable, but then he realizes he’s not mad. His hands are clenched, yeah, but it’s not because he wants to hit Yuuri. 

It’s because what Yuuri did _worked_.

Yuuri feels like the most powerful person in the world. “Would you like me to do it again?” he asks. 

Victor looks to see if Yu-chan is paying attention; she’s not, her back is to them while she balances the ledgers. Victor skates to Yuuri with such speed Yuuri barely registers what’s happening. He yelps and skates away at the last second, Victor in hot pursuit. 

Yuuri keeps his lead for a lap or two, but Victor has longer legs and eventually Yuuri feels a hand grab him by the hip. It causes him to skid, and the two of them end up on the ice in a pile. Victor grabs Yuuri’s face and kisses him hard, Yuuri’s gasp getting taken as a formal invite for Victor’s tongue. 

Not that he’s offended, mind, it’s just a surprise.

Victor breaks the kiss after several minutes, Yuuri not even having realized he put his hands in Victor’s hair. Victor takes him in with a long look. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“I was just following my coach’s instructions,” Yuuri says while trying to slow his breathing.

Victor snorts. “Yes, well,” he replies. He doesn’t follow it up with anything more, but he helps Yuuri off the ice. 

Yuuri didn’t even feel the cold, but how could he have?

Victor tugs him close enough his mouth is at his ear, his breath running over it in a way that Yuuri’s knees almost give out. “When I get you alone, _lapochka_ ,” Victor promises. He then skates away, and Yuuri pulls on his shirt collar with a small smile.

(It’s the best sex yet.)

_\-----_

They fall into a routine after that.

When Yuuri’s not skating, working out, eating, or in the hot spring, he’s in bed with Victor. It’s a good thing neither of them have any other responsibilities besides winning the GPF, otherwise they’d be in deep trouble. His practice doesn’t suffer either, though Yuuri thinks Victor would likely end this...whatever.

Whatever this is.

It’s been three weeks, and they still can’t get enough of each other. Yuuri is actually shocked when he sees what day it is because of how long it’s been. Victor’s not bored yet? How is Victor not bored yet?

It never occurs to him that Victor’s not bored for the same reason Yuuri’s not, but that’s neither here nor there.

Yuuri checks his phone, and he sees he’s missed several texts from Phichit.

 _Haven’t heard from you in a while! Just checking in,_ the last one says.

Yuuri is almost crushed by his guilt. He’s been neglecting their friendship, getting back to Phichit hours after the fact if at all. He excuses himself to his (not used much these days) room, and he calls Phichit.

It rings twice. “Yuuri! Hey!”

“Hey Phichit, sorry I’ve been absent,” Yuuri says as he cradles the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “I’ve been busy.”

Phichit snorts. “We’re all busy, Yuuri, it’s the lead up to GP season, but since you said you’re sorry I forgive you. Don’t let it happen again!”

Yuuri can visualize Phichit shaking his fist at him. It’s about as effective as Makkachin’s half-hearted annoyance when Victor snuggles him while he’s napping. “I won’t. Promise.”

“Better not.” Now Yuuri can hear Phichit’s smile. “So why are you so occupied? I doubt Victor’s making you practice _that_ much.”

Yuuri flushes, because he’s practicing a lot with Victor all right. It takes him too long to answer, and he hopes Phichit doesn’t notice. “Uh, it’s tourist season. The inn’s busy.”

Phichit totally notices. “Suuuuuuuuuure.”

Yuuri sweats without speaking.

Phichit notices that too. “You’re still doing Victor, aren’t you?” It’s not said as an accusation so much as a blase statement of fact, like Phichit’s informing Yuuri that the Prime Minister of Thailand is Boonsongpaisan.

“I um---” Yuuri swallows.

Phichit starts losing his shit. “Oh my God! You are! You’ve been ignoring me because you’re too busy getting some! That’s hilarious and amazing!”

“Phichit,” Yuuri tries. Paranoia means Yuuri opens his door to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. 

They’re not. He closes it again.

“Phichit seriously,” Yuuri says. He drops his glasses on his desk and sighs. 

“This is great! I can’t believe it!” Yuuri hears Phichit fumble for something, and a song starts playing like it did last time. _She said she wants some Marvin Gaye, some Luther Vandross, a little Anita will definitely set this party off right! She said she wants some Ready for the World, some New Edition, some Minnie Ripperton will set this party off right! It definitely will, you know what I told her---_

Yuuri groans, dropping his phone onto his floor. The music continues to play through the phone’s speaker. After a minute, he picks it back up. “Why are you like this?”

Phichit turns Kanye down. “I am a National Treasure, Yuuri, how dare you.”

The thing is Phichit is for real a National Treasure in Thailand. It’s obviously gone to his head. Yuuri sighs. “Phichit.”

“Okay, okay,” Phichit says. He pauses the song. “Wow. I didn’t think Victor ever does anything like this, like serious relationship stuff. That’s wild.”

Yuuri freezes, and without realizing it, Phichit’s just made him confront something he has purposely ignored. “It’s not serious. We’re not dating.”

Phichit is silent. “I don’t follow you.”

“It’s just---” Yuuri would know how to explain in Japanese, but he struggles with it in English until a slang term he heard a lot at Wayne State comes to mind. “Friends with benefits.”

Phichit is silent again, but it’s different from the last one. “No, it’s an affair.”

“Same difference,” Yuuri responds.

“No, not really,” Phichit answers. “Friends with benefits is like...the only reason you get together is to get off, and it’s usually out in the open. An affair is like...you know the person’s likes and dislikes, you sneak around so people don’t catch on since usually one of you’s attached, you go on dates without anyone else knowing. Friends with benefits is like a night or two a week, tops. An affair is like...you can’t stop and can’t contain it, you probably don’t even want to.”

Yuuri’s blood runs cold. Is Phichit right? Is he having an affair? They fit the sneaking around criteria, at least, though Yuuri in all his anxiety can’t help but wonder if everyone knows. No one’s said anything to him, though Minako has remarked he seems lighter these days, but---

“No, it’s---we’re not---” Yuuri stumbles more than normal. “I can quit anytime.”

It’s weak to his own ears.

Phichit clears his throat. “Literally no one is suggesting you stop. Don’t be stubborn to prove a point, either.”

Yuuri doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Yuuri, if it makes you both happy, everything else is irrelevant,” Phichit says with a lighter tone. “But you do need to make sure you’re on the same page. Either or both of you can end up getting hurt if you’re not, and no one wants that, especially not me. Maybe you should talk it over with him.”

Yuuri hates talking. Phichit knows Yuuri hates talking, which is why he knows Phichit has a point since he’s bringing it up. “I guess.”

“Search your feelings, you know it to be true,” Phichit adds.

Yuuri snorts. “Thanks, Darth Vader.”

“Don’t make me Force choke you!” Phichit says. “Talk to him, seriously. Figure out where things are. You’ll feel better.”

 _I don’t feel bad in the first place_ , Yuuri wants to counter. “Sure.”

“I’ll know if you don’t,” Phichit says. “I need to go now, though. I’ll talk to you maybe this weekend.”

“Yeah, have a good night,” Yuuri says as he hangs up. He pulls up iTunes on his computer and turns it on to shuffle. A song begins to play, slow guitar with a female vocalist. It’s an American pop song from a band he got into in Detroit thanks to a rinkmate. 

Phichit teases him sometimes about his taste in music, calling him a secret softie. 

There’s a quiet knock on his door, and Yuuri opens it to Victor. He smiles at him, and Yuuri smiles back, gesturing for him to come in. Makkachin precedes him, and Yuuri closes the door once they’re inside. Victor gets a faraway look in his eyes, Yuuri raising an eyebrow until he realizes he’s listening to the song. “This is sweet,” Victor says.

Yuuri shrugs one shoulder. “I like it that way sometimes.”

Victor holds out his hands palms up, Yuuri staring at him. Then he places his palms on top of his, and Victor leads them in a dance around Yuuri’s room. He spins Yuuri out, reeling him in so his back is to Victor’s chest, and Yuuri’s cheeks turn bright pink. His heart thuds a few times, Yuuri not knowing what to say or how to else to react.

_And I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance. And up until now  
I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness---because none of it was ever worth the risk..._

Victor sways them back and forth, Yuuri still within his arms, and Yuuri swallows as the chorus of the song reaches its crescendo. 

_Well, you are the only exception---_

It’s not like he’s in love with Victor, Yuuri thinks. It’s not like that at all. There’s no word for how he feels---they’re a mentor and a student, they’re friends, they sleep together...he’s not in love. It’s not a romantic love, if it’s love at all. 

Which he doesn’t think it is. 

Sure he never thought about _this_ with anyone else, but that doesn’t mean he’s in love. It just means Victor’s unique. That’s all.

Victor kisses a spot on Yuuri’s neck, and he softens. Yuuri turns to face him, kissing his mouth and leading him to his bed. They take turns stripping each other, and within moments, Yuuri’s entirely forgotten that train of thought.

It feels different this time, though. Maybe it’s more tender, maybe there’s a slower tempo, but something’s different. 

Yuuri can’t figure out what it is so he doesn’t bring it up.

He decides he likes it, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, come say hi to me at [Tumblr](sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)!


	3. Tanabata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Tanabata matsuri, and Victor makes Yuuri a proposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tanabata is traditionally the seventh day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar, but some regions in Japan celebrate it in August instead of July. For the purpose of this story, Hasetsu is one of them.
> 
> We should all have friends like Phichit Chulanont. We should also all have big sisters like Mari.
> 
> Karaage is like Japanese fried chicken but in little pieces instead of, say, a quarter chicken. Taiyaki are the ice cream filled cake things shaped like fish. I based Victor's off the kind you can get at the fancy Taiyaki place in New York City. Tsukemono are pickled vegetables.
> 
> The factoid about the correct way to wear a yukata is true. I just thought it'd be funny.

  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37246543941/in/dateposted-public/)  
  


Hasetsu is busy, getting ready for _Tanabata_ , and Yuuri is excited. He missed this festival the most after New Year’s while living in Detroit, though Phichit weathered his taping of his wish to their apartment walls with good humor. 

He pulls his _yukata_ out of storage and shakes out the mothballs. He’ll get it cleaned before the _matsuri_ to get rid of the smell more than anything, he thinks as he tries it on in his room. The garment is blue with lavender and gray pinstripes, and he secures it, tying the _obi_ around his waist.

Makkachin paws at his door. He opens it, and the poodle grins at him. “Hi,” he says. Makkachin stands on his hind paws and places his front ones on Yuuri’s hips like he’s hugging him. Yuuri laughs, scratching him behind the ears a few times before he sets him down on all fours. “Be careful,” he tells him. “You’ll snag it.”

“Makkachin,” he hears Victor call. “Where did you go---oh.” Victor stands in his doorway, staring at him. Yuuri straightens up--there’s a distinct look in Victor’s eyes, one Yuuri recognizes. “You look beautiful.”

Yuuri feels his face heat. “Ah, thanks. It’s for _Tanabata_.”

“ _Tanabata_ ,” Victor repeats slowly as if tasting the word. His Japanese has been improving in the last few weeks; Yuuri knows when Victor has downtime he’s using Rosetta Stone to practice. It moves him that Victor is so eager to adapt and to communicate with not only him but his family and friends in their native language. Victor sits on his bed. Yuuri goes to sit next to him, but Victor puts out his arms and holds him away. His eyes rake up from Yuuri’s feet to his face and back down. “If only you could skate in this and not kill yourself.”

Yuuri snorts but the flush on his face deepens. “Yeah it’s...not practical.”

“So what is _Tanabata_ exactly?” Victor asks.

“You know all the decorations they’ve been putting up around town?” Yuuri says. This time Victor lets him sit, and he rests next to him with their thighs touching as Victor nods. Yuuri brightens then, his voice growing more and more excited as he talks. “It’s the Star Festival. There’s this pair of lovers, Orihime and Hikoboshi, and they’re only allowed to meet one day of the year because the Milky Way separates them. It’s the seventh day of the seventh month that they can come together, hence the festival. Though it’s said that if it rains, they can’t meet.”

“That’s somewhat sad,” Victor replies with a frown.

“A little,” Yuuri admits. “Orihime has to cross a river to meet him---she’s a weaver, and he’s a cowherd. Her father introduced them because he thought she was lonely, and they hit it off a little too well. She stopped weaving, and his cows got loose all over heaven. Her dad separated them, but then she cried so much she still didn’t make any cloth. So he gave them the day to meet every year, crossing the Milky Way like a river. Magpies make a bridge for her, and if it rains they can’t. That’s why if the weather’s bad they spend the year alone.”

Makkachin joins them on the bed, curling up next to Victor with his head on his thigh. Victor absent-mindedly pets him. 

“They’re represented by the stars Vega and Altair,” Yuuri continues. “Hence Star Festival.”

“That’s a lovely story,” Victor answers. “And I can tell you really enjoy this holiday.”

Yuuri blinks.

“You get this look in your eyes,” Victor elaborates. “When you’re excited. It’s like your eyes turn a couple shades lighter and glow from within.”

Now Yuuri’s face heats for a different reason. No one’s ever noticed anything like that about him. Or at least if they did, they never let on.

“How about this,” Victor begins. “Work really hard this week, and we’ll take off for the festival.”

Yuuri lights up. He’d wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to be pushy. “Really?”

“Of course, _lapochka_ ,” Victor answers. He takes one of Yuuri’s hands in both of his. Victor massages his palm. “Should I also get a _kimono_ to accompany you?”

“ _Yukata_ ,” Yuuri corrects.

“ _Yukata_ then,” Victor says with a smile.

“Yeah, you should,” Yuuri answers. Victor will stick out regardless, he’s too beautiful to not, but Yuuri wants to see him in a _yukata_ outside of the _ryokan_. “Let me change back, I need to get this cleaned, and we’ll head out if you’re not busy.”

Victor winks. “I am at your disposal.” 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, his heart skipping a beat in the process. Victor should register that as a deadly weapon. 

He changes back into his shorts and t-shirt, folding up the _yukata_ to place in a bag, fully aware of Victor’s eyes on him as he bends over in just his boxers. If he lingers for a moment in that position, neither of them comment. Yuuri jerks his head once dressed, and Victor files out of his room. Makkachin is asleep so they opt to let him rest, Yuuri keeping the door ajar so he can leave when he wishes.

The dry cleaner’s is on the way, so Yuuri drops his outfit off and asks for the rush service to make sure it’s done in time. It should be ready the day before, so he bows and thanks the woman at the counter. Victor smiles at her and thanks her as well, and Yuuri swears the woman has heart palpitations. 

He can’t blame her.

He’s still a little in awe, he thinks as they walk together to Hasetsu’s shopping district, that he’s managed to not only capture Victor’s attention as a skater but as a sex partner. Boyfriend doesn’t seem to fit, and he doesn’t think they’re serious enough to call each other lovers. Maybe he should ask, though the thought fills him with a pit of dread. 

He’s afraid that if he questions it, Victor will call it off. His rational brain tells him that’s silly, he won’t get dumped for asking a question, but anxiety is seldom rational, and it usually wins.

The shop is the next door, and they enter it. A clerk comes to them, and Yuuri explains that Victor needs a _yukata_ for _Tanabata_ and that he’s 180 centimeters tall, so she can find him one that will be long enough.

The clerk smiles, and she gets several options for them. She hands them to Victor and shows him the changing room, and Victor bows, thanking her before going to change. Yuuri stands nearby the stall texting Phichit. _Hey._

_Hey! How goes?_

_Not bad, helping Victor buy a yukata. It’s Tanabata this weekend._

_That’s the one where you’d tape up a wish to be a better skater right?_

Yuuri snorts. _Yeah it’s the Festival of Skills. My handwriting’s fine so I always asked to be better at skating._

_Handwriting?_

_Boys usually wish for better handwriting. It’s a thing. I’m gonna write that I wish to land the Salchow in competition._

_Makes sense. I’d wish to make jok moo like my Mom. Missed it like crazy in Detroit._

Yuuri remembers trying to find a decent Thai place for Phichit when they lived together. He said Go! Sy Thai was tolerable, it not getting the outrage once they left most of the places gave Phichit. Yuuri feels him on that---to this day, he doesn’t comprehend what the Americans do to sushi. He may never, honestly. He wonders if Victor has similar moral dilemmas with Russian food in the US. 

He can guess without asking Yuri Plisetsky does.

There’s a pause in the texting, and Victor comes out. The _yukata_ is basically an inverse of Yuuri’s---it’s a light silver, almost the same color as Victor’s hair, with dark blue and royal purple pinstripes. Yuuri almost swallows his tongue at how good he looks before he notices it.

Then he laughs.

“What?” Victor asks, noticing. “It’s not good?”

“You look great minus the burial thing,” Yuuri remarks. Victor’s slight confusion turns to outright bewilderment. Yuuri pockets his phone and steers him back into the changing room, following him this time and drawing the curtain closed. Yuuri makes him turn around, undoing the _obi_. Then he turns him again so they face each other. “Left over right,” Yuuri says as he redoes it. “Right over left means you’re at your own funeral.”

The action pulls Victor close enough Yuuri feels his breath on his cheek. He fusses over a non-existent wrinkle in the fabric. It’s a ploy to keep touching his chest, though he hopes Victor doesn’t notice.

“Good to know,” Victor whispers.

“Don’t do it again, or we’ll tell everyone at Yu-Topia you’re a ghost,” Yuuri says with a smile as he looks up at him. “Ah yes the handsome foreigner, he died so young---it’s tragic.”

Victor’s face fights between annoyance and laughter.

“Sometimes we can still hear his voice,” Yuuri continues.

“Quit telling people I’m dead,” Victor says with a snort, “Is how I’ll reply to you.”

Yuuri gives him a look full of mock innocence. His hands roam around Victor’s waist as he redoes the _obi_. Victor wraps his arms around Yuuri in response. “If you get this one, we’ll match,” Yuuri can’t help but observe.

“I’m partial to it for that reason alone,” Victor intones. “Though I should try them all on out of fairness.” He lifts Yuuri’s chin with his right hand, stroking his lips with his thumb. “Let me finish, _lapochka_.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says with a smile as he steps out of the small room. The next one Victor tries on is a bold black and white pattern, and it looks good. The last one is a solid dark gray with a red _obi_ , but the clear winner is the first.

Victor pays for his purchase, and they leave the shop. Victor checks the time on his phone. “Hm, it’s past dinner time. Want to grab a bite somewhere?”

Yuuri’s favorite _izakaya_ is down the block. “Yeah, here.” He takes Victor’s hand and leads him into it, the red lanterns greeting them out front. They sit at a small table at the back. They’re given cool towels to wash their hands with, and Yuuri looks at the menu. He orders them a bottle of sake, _karaage_ , _yakitori_ skewers, _agedashi_ tofu, and a variety of _tsukemono_.

The food comes, and Victor starts with the _karaage_. “ _Vkusno!_ he exclaims after the first bite.

Yuuri lets out an anxious breath he didn’t know he held. He seeks Victor’s approval like Phichit seeks hamsters. “Oh. Good.”

They eat every bite between the two of them, Victor for once not giving Yuuri any crap about maintaining his weight. Though that’s probably because Yuuri left Victor’s bed that morning to run fifteen kilometers. Maybe he thinks he’s earned it.

Yuuri only has two glasses of sake because he knows how he gets when he’s drunk. It took a lot of talking to get Phichit to delete the photos from the last time it happened in Detroit. Victor’s not drunk either, just happy, though he’s freer with his conversation than normal.

There’s a lull when their plates are cleared, and Victor gives Yuuri a thoughtful expression. He takes his hands in his, Yuuri starting at the gesture since they’re in public. “Yuuri, there’s something I need to say.”

Yuuri goes pale. Victor’s going to cut him loose. He doesn’t want to sleep with him anymore.

Victor’s eyes are soft and shining as he looks up and gives Yuuri a smile. “I’m enjoying this right now. Are you?”

“Enjoying what?” Yuuri asks. He isn’t being a smartass---he’s not sure what Victor means.

Victor shifts their hands so their fingers lace together. “Being out alone together. I enjoy being with you regardless of if it’s at the rink or in bed, but I like this a lot too.”

Yuuri’s heart flutters. “Oh.”

“I’d like to, with your permission,” Victor continues, “do this regularly. Maybe one or two nights a week?”

Yuuri opens his mouth before closing it. “You want to date me?”

Victor’s smile widens, and he nods.

“You have feelings for me,” Yuuri continues, feeling somewhat slow. 

“How could I not?” Victor asks, his voice husky in the noise of the bar.

Yuuri stares at Victor with equal parts disbelief and bashfulness. “Oh. Um. I---”

“If you need time to think about it, that’s okay,” Victor says. “I’m springing this on you, in a way. But in the meanwhile, just keep it in mind.”

Much like the first night, Victor’s letting him make the decision. He’s letting Yuuri call the shots, choosing how to open up to him. “Okay.”

Victor squeezes his fingers. They pay the check and head home. Yuuri wonders if Victor has some kind of bitterness that he didn’t immediately say yes to being with him, but it’s squashed by the way Victor frequently looks at Yuuri and smiles. When they arrive at the inn, Makkachin greets them, and Victor decides to take him for his nighttime walk but not before whispering in Yuuri’s ear, “Go into my room. I’ll be back in a moment.”

No hard feelings, then. Yuuri’s face flushes, and he bites his bottom lip. He nods, letting Victor go, loudly exhaling his breath with anticipation. He hears the familiar click of a lighter, and turns to see Mari a couple of meters away. She takes a drag of the cigarette she just lit. “You know you two are really obvious, right?” she asks.

Yuuri chokes, the flush on his face darkening to almost maroon. His eyes are wide behind his glasses.

“You’re also not as quiet as you think,” she continues with a smirk. She’s pleased at Yuuri being mortified as big sisters often are. 

Swallowing, Yuuri moves closer to her. He drops his voice down. “Mom and Dad?”

Mari takes another pull off her cigarette, being careful to exhale away from his face. “Dad’s clueless. I think Mom has an idea, though. You’re acting different---you’re not as broody, in fact you’re chipper by your standards.”

Damn.

Mari gives him a thoughtful look, and he realizes they’re both running their hands through their hair the same way, though for different reasons. “You should just cop to it. They’ll be happy for you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Yuuri says. He does for ten seconds and decides that hell no he won’t tell his parents. Especially because he doesn’t even know what to say after Victor’s proposition.

Mari seems to realize this judging from the look in her eyes. “Don’t be wimpy.” She cuffs his ear for a second before bailing on the convo. 

Yuuri sighs, running his hand over his eyes, and heads to Victor’s room.

_\-----_

Victor wakes Yuuri with a kiss as he climbs out of bed to walk Makkachin, Yuuri not putting on his clothes or leaving. He checks the time on his phone as soon as Victor’s gone plus two minutes to make sure---Phichit’s likely still asleep.

Yuuri texts him anyways.

_SOS need assistance call me when you get this._

Then he gets dressed and sneaks to his room where he gets ready for his run. The workout plan says twelve kilometers, and Yuuri runs them, music playing in his ears as he travels along Hasetsu’s coastline. It’s a beautiful morning full of clear blue skies and shimmering sunlight that Yuuri can barely notice because of everything on his mind.

He’s ended his run, pausing to catch his breath when his phone rings. He checks the caller ID---it’s Phichit. “Hey.”

“What’s the emergency?” Phichit asks. Yuuri can hear him moving around his apartment, probably making breakfast he guesses.

“There’s a couple,” Yuuri replies. “The smaller one is that Mari found out about me and Victor. She thinks I should tell Mom and Dad.”

“Well, she’s not wrong.” Phichit is frying something, Yuuri can hear the fat sizzling.

“What? But---”

“Yuuri, you’re not doing anything other people our age don’t,” Phichit points out. “They’ll probably be happy for you that you’ve found someone. It’s not that serious if your family knows, it’s really not. You have nothing to lose. Just tell them.”

Why does Phichit always have to advocate for telling people things? Yuuri groans. “But that’s the problem! I don’t know what to tell them, because Victor wants to _date me_!”

“Called it,” Phichit says like he’s bored.

“He has feelings for me, and he asked me to---what do you mean, ‘called it’?” Yuuri screeches. The gulls nearby get offended and fly screaming into the horizon.

“Yuuri, when has Victor ever seen a person for more than a few days?” Phichit inquires. The sizzling gets louder for a second before calming down. 

Yuuri frowns. “Never?”

“And how long has Victor been sleeping with you?” Phichit continues.

“Since...June,” Yuuri says.

“And what month is it?” Phichit asks.

“It’s early August,” Yuuri says, his voice kind of quiet.

“And does Victor kick you out every night after you do the deed? Or does he hold you in his sculpted man-arms while you dream about gold medals?”

“He...the man-arms,” Yuuri answers.

“And does Victor do things like gently touch you or hold you when you’re not banging?”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, remembering all the times Victor’s kissed his hands or touched his face. “I thought that was just how this stuff works.”

“Not when it’s just sex,” Phichit chirps in a sing-song. “Congratulations, Yuuri, you’ve stolen the heart of the best men’s solo figure skater in history.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Yuuri says. It doesn’t. “He’s...him, and I’m _me_.”

Phichit sighs around a mouthful of his breakfast. “Yuuri. How many times have we talked about this? About you being this amazing catch that people would wage land wars over? You’re like if Helen of Troy were a Japanese guy in glasses who likes the triple axel best and mains Widowmaker in Overwatch.”

Yuuri doesn’t sit on the sand so much as fall down in a heap. He puts Phichit on speaker and drops his phone so he can bury his face in his hands. “Phichit…”

“I have told you repeatedly about all the people who have checked you out if not outright made passes at you that you just...somehow...didn’t...see.” Phichit pauses to take a drink. “I love you to the moon and back, but you’re not bright when it comes to this stuff.”

Phichit’s right because Yuuri’s seldom felt so stupid. The signs are there that Victor’s caught feelings, and he somehow didn’t see them for what they are. “What do I do?”

“How do you feel about him?” Phichit is moving around again, the sound of a sink running indicating he’s doing his dishes. 

Yuuri doesn’t answer right away, he’s too busy thinking about how he reacts when Victor catches his eye or touches him the right way. His cheeks heat, and his heart races. He thinks about how he flirted with him while buying the _yukata_ , even though he hadn’t realized that’s what it was at the time. “I think I like him.”

“You better be sure because Victor is,” Phichit replies. It’s a stern but loving rebuke all at once.

Yuuri contemplates his feelings again. He realizes that maybe he’s had feelings for Victor since he showed up in Hasetsu, because why else would he immediately go to him to lose his virginity? He didn’t even consider asking anyone else before his heart got set on him, and it’s so easy to trust Victor with himself. “No, I’m sure. I like him.”

“Then tell him you’re in accordance about dating and be honest with your folks,” Phichit says with a smile in his voice. “Crisis solved. Next?”

Yuuri picks his phone back up and takes Phichit off speaker. “There’s nothing else. That’s all.”

“Cool,” Phichit says. “My life is great, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Yuuri snorts. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Phichit laughs. “It’s okay. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

“Are you really doing well? We’ve been mostly talking about me lately,” Yuuri says.

“Yeah, everything’s great. I’m excited for you to see my programs in Beijing! You know I’ve wanted to do ‘Shall We Skate?’ forever.” Phichit rustles through something. “Ciao Ciao sends his best by the way.”

Yuuri winces, still feeling awkward about his former coach. “Tell him I send my best back.”

“Will do!” Phichit does something else that Yuuri isn’t quite sure of. “Do you want to get coffee or something in China? After the competition I mean, I know it makes you jittery.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Yuuri says. “Chris Giacometti will be there, so Victor will probably want to catch up with him.”

“Everyone will just have bro catch-up times, then,” Phichit replies. Yuuri can see his grin in his head. “Pencil me in, then.”

“Of course,” Yuuri says. They sit in silence for a minute, and then Yuuri sighs. “Phichit?”

“Mmhm.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says. “Not just for this.”

“My bill is in the mail,” Phichit jokes. “But you’re welcome. It’s why I’m here.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri listens to the waves for a minute as they loll in and out. “I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Have a good day!” Yuuri hangs up, and he watches the waves for a while, his arms wrapped around his knees as the gulls poke at shells on the shore. The blue of the sea reminds him of Victor’s eyes including the way they glitter in the sun, only Yuuri prefers Victor. His eyes are more vibrant somehow and lovelier besides.

He gets up, brushing the sand off his clothes, and heads back to Yu-Topia. 

Now he just has to figure out how to tell Victor.

_\-----_

As promised, Victor suspends practice for the _matsuri_ , Yuuri helping him dress in his _yukata_. Victor returns the favor, putting the cloth left over right with a playful smile on his face. 

They head to the festivities in the evening, just the two of them with Yuuri teaching Victor how to fold paper cranes and then hanging their wishes from the bamboo. Yuuri’s asks to land the Salchow in competition. He doesn’t ask what Victor wrote.

There are games and food stalls, and Victor is overjoyed to try a bunch of new things he can’t get normally. 

They walk and chat, Victor enjoying a spectacularly large _taiyaki_ filled with red bean paste and matcha ice cream. They wander by Hasetsu Castle, Victor stopping them for about seventy selfies together in their festival finery. He uploads the one Yuuri agrees is the best where they’re both smiling wide, faces touching. Yuuri has his eyes closed and is giving a peace sign, and Victor is winking with his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

It’s a great picture, and while Yuuri often doesn’t find himself photogenic, he’s kind of in love with it.

Victor’s adding a caption and hashtags. The tip of his tongue sticks out of between his lips, his face suggesting he’s in deep concentration. Yuuri looks up at him while Victor’s unaware, and more than anything else, even the talk with Phichit, he knows how he feels.

It’s time, he thinks.

Victor finishes uploading the photo, though it takes a while since the crowd is so large it’s choking the signal. He gives Yuuri a bright smile. 

Yuuri’s heart thumps, and with only a brief attempt at talking himself out of it, he reaches down and slides his hand into Victor’s. Heat fills his cheeks, and he turns so Victor can’t see his face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can tell that Victor’s looking down at their hands. “Wow,” Victor says in that way he has, and Yuuri’s flush deepens. He clears his throat.

“Um,” Yuuri begins. Why do words suck so hard? They suck more than anything in the entire world. If Yuuri could, he’d eradicate them in lieu of something more elegant like crayon drawings. “This...we’re---”

Victor doesn’t interrupt or push. He lets him open up when he’s ready, and it makes Yuuri even surer about this.

“---Second date,” Yuuri says. He still can’t quite meet Victor’s gaze. 

Victor tugs his hand, causing Yuuri to go off-balance and fall against his chest. His head is right at Victor’s shoulder, and he hides in it, his face like flames. “ _Lapochka_ ,” Victor says. “Really?”

Yuuri doesn’t trust himself to speak without tripping again, so he nods in Victor’s neck. “Yeah. Be my boyfriend,” he manages after a bit.

Victor holds him close, taking a hand and lifting Yuuri’s chin. Before Yuuri can protest, Victor strokes his cheek with his thumb. “I’ll make you so happy.”

 _You already do_ , Yuuri wants to reply. Instead, even though they’re in public, he leans up and holds Victor tight. They go back to wandering, and it’s actually a little easier for Yuuri to talk to Victor about things now that the dating discussion is over. He has an easier time with words when they’re not about his feelings.

The sun sets, red and gold and violet, and Victor and Yuuri watch it dip below the horizon from a bridge. They happen to be alone, and this is when Victor pulls Yuuri to him again, holding his face in both hands as he kisses him while day turns to dusk.

It’s totally one of those classic film moments, Yuuri can’t help but think as his heart skips so hard he thinks he might die. Yuuri’s never dated anyone before so he has no frame of reference, but the two of them must be something special for him to feel this strongly and happy without being in love. He hears a symphony in his mind, and he never, ever wants this to end.

It does because everything in life does, and Victor tugs on Yuuri’s hand, leading him back to Yu-Topia. He turns to him periodically with affection in his gaze and his heart-shaped smile on his face, and Yuuri can’t help but smile back. 

They enter the inn, and everyone’s attention is diverted away from them. Victor pulls Yuuri into his room, closing the door behind them, and as soon as that task is complete, he’s all over Yuuri, his hands in his hair and his lips to his mouth. Yuuri laughs into the kiss as Victor pushes him against the wall, his glasses going askew in the process.

Yuuri takes control, gently pushing on Victor’s shoulders and steering him to his bed. He feels much more confident after their talk, and this, he believes, is a better way to show what’s in his heart. Words can be empty platitudes, but a gesture...that counts more, in Yuuri’s mind. Actions always speak louder.

Speaking of a gesture…he’s about to give Victor a doozy.

Yuuri pushes Victor down into a sitting position, straddling him. He looks down into his face, Victor’s eyes bright in the dim lighting of the room, and he swallows. “You know the thing? The thing we haven’t done yet?”

Victor’s hands caress his thighs. “The thing, yes. I recall the thing.”

Yuuri swallows a second time. “‘I’m ready for the thing. Let’s do the thing,” he says with vastly more bravado than he felt about asking Victor to be his boyfriend.

Victor smiles. “You sure?”

Yuuri leans down, his face millimeters from Victor’s, his breath ghosting across his lips. “Yes.”

Victor takes off his glasses, and Yuuri bends the last distance, kissing him again. Victor’s hands drop down to his hips, winding behind his back to undo the _obi_. He drops it to the floor while Yuuri’s hands run through his hair, causing Victor to deepen the kiss. 

Victor pulls the _yukata_ open and down Yuuri’s arms, Yuuri reluctantly letting him go in order to get the garment off completely. He only had on a pair of boxers underneath, and he decides to divest Victor of his garments just as efficiently. They’re on equal footing, and Victor pulls Yuuri onto the bed on top of him, and they kiss again, hot and wet. Victor rolls them so Yuuri’s on his back underneath him, and Victor runs his tongue over Yuuri’s right ear, eliciting a loud moan.

Victor pauses. “Hang on for a second,” he says.

Yuuri nods, and Victor gets off the bed. He rummages in his bedside table and pulls out a zipped up pouch. Yuuri’s heart races as Victor pulls out a bottle of lubricant and a condom. It makes it real in a way that it wasn’t, and Yuuri’s hands clench and unclench a few times.

Victor climbs back over to him, and he seems to realize what’s going on because he leans down and kisses Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri runs his hands up Victor’s arms to his biceps, his fingers digging in as a means to ground him. 

It works.

Victor kisses him again, a slow burn kind of kiss that makes Yuuri’s blood feel like it’s boiling. Victor’s hands slide down Yuuri’s chest with light scratches the way Yuuri loves, down to the waistband of his underwear. Without breaking the kiss, Yuuri lifts his hips to help Victor get them off. They got thrown haphazardly over Victor’s shoulder, and Yuuri makes a grumble. “I’ll need those at some point,” he protests.

“Not for at least twelve hours,” Victor says with a mischievous smile. “If even then, we’ll see if I’m feeling generous.”

Yuuri snorts. “I can’t just live in your bedroom.”

“You make it sound like you don’t want to, I’m wounded,” Victor replies with a wink. Yuuri wishes he wouldn’t do that, it makes it very difficult to stand his ground. 

“I think the ISU officials might notice it if I don’t show up,” Yuuri deadpans.

Victor pretends to mull this over. “Ah, there’s the rub. You need to compete.”

“Yeah but not right this second?” Yuuri asks as they’re getting derailed. Granted, it’s his fault, but still. “I don’t want to think about skating right now.”

“Hm,” Victor says. He drops lower on Yuuri’s body, pressing an open-mouthed kiss above his heart. “What would you like to think about?” Yuuri grips his shoulders, sucking in his breath. “I think I know.”

Of course he knows, Yuuri thinks as Victor’s fingers press bruises into his hips while he licks down Yuuri’s stomach. That’s the freaking point. Victor rocks back onto his heels, but before Yuuri can protest he pulls him up on him so that he sits on his lap, close enough that Yuuri’s erection is smushed between their stomachs.

One of Victor’s hands disappears off him, but he hears a sound like a cap being opened. Victor uses both hands to pour the lube on his fingers. He reaches in between them and under Yuuri, pressing a slick finger to his entrance. It slips inside, right as rain, and Yuuri sighs, his face burying into Victor’s shoulder.

“Tell me if it hurts or it’s too much,” Victor says in a hushed tone.

“You can do more, actually,” Yuuri says as Victor slides his finger in and out. “I’m used to it.”

Victor goes still. 

“What? Oh.” Yuuri sighs. “I do this when I jerk off.”

Victor’s breath sharpens, inhales like a shot. “You still need to let me watch you do that.”

Yuuri’s face heats for a different reason than their intimate position. “Less talk, more fingers,” he says, changing the subject to something that will expose him less.

Victor laughs into his throat. “If you insist.” He adds a second finger, crooking them inside Yuuri just the right way to make him gasp out loud. Victor takes his time prepping Yuuri, stretching him, playing his body with precision like a concert cellist with three fingers deep inside him until Yuuri is a keening mess with an aching, dripping cock.

“Now,” Yuuri manages to choke out. “Please.”

Victor withdraws his fingers, and Yuuri dimly hears the sound of foil being ripped open. Yuuri moves off Victor’s lap to let him take off his underwear and put on the condom, and then Victor pulls Yuuri back into his original position. He holds his cock in place as Yuuri takes the cue and sinks down onto it a little at a time. He doesn’t stop until he’s full.

Yuuri puts his hands on Victor’s shoulders. He closes his eyes and breathes.

All he’s ever heard about this from the people in his life is how much it sucks the first time. How it doesn’t even become enjoyable until around time number five. How to expect nothing but pain and suffering and yeah, probably blood.

Yuuri wonders what the hell those people were on, because frankly it’s not bad. He can tell it’ll improve with Victor moving and maybe some practice, but this is actually...decent.

Victor’s face is in his throat and he’s breathing this kind of labored odd way. His hands grip Yuuri’s thighs like he’s restraining himself and has no other means to do so. Yuuri wonders why Victor is so stiff until he gets it. “I’m gonna move.”

“You sure?” Victor asks, his voice strained. “I don’t want you to hurt---”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Yuuri says. Honestly, Victor has a knack sometimes for picking the wrong time to treat Yuuri like he’s delicate. This is without a doubt one of those times.

Victor sighs as Yuuri experiments, rolling his hips in one direction slow. Yuuri’s breaths come out a bit shallow as he tries to figure out what feels good. He finds a pattern and a rhythm, riding Victor slow and delicious. Victor pants in his throat, alternating between Russian endearments and pressing kisses to his skin wherever he can reach. 

Yuuri drops his hips a certain way and it causes Victor’s cock to drag across his prostate. He cries out, letting go of Victor’s left shoulder to cover his mouth and stifle his sounds. He repeats the movement, biting his lip this time, and his grip on Victor tightens enough to bruise. Victor brings his lube-smeared hand to Yuuri’s cock and begins to stroke it.

Yuuri spits out a long stream of swear words in Japanese, and Victor responds by biting down on his collarbone. “ _Lapochka_ ,” Victor groans.

“I’m not gonna last,” Yuuri manages to say.

He feels Victor nod as he strokes faster. “You can come. I want you to.”

Yuuri wants it too, and he’s on the brink. He can’t tell about Victor, but he snaps his hips more earnestly, Victor strokes him harder and faster, and before he can prepare his orgasm tears through him, his come pouring hotly over Victor’s fist. Yuuri bites out Victor’s name, sagging against him as he comes down. 

Victor shifts, pushing Yuuri onto his back, and takes control, his thrusts hard. Yuuri takes it without complaint, his body trying to react even though it’s too soon. He grips Victor’s arms with his eyes closed as Victor finally stills with a low shout. Sweat’s plastered his bangs to his forehead, and when Yuuri opens his eyes, he’s never seen a prettier sight than his debauched expression.

Yuuri definitely feels misled by Phichit along with everyone else. This is great. Maybe for once in his life he’s lucky, but the point remains he’s found a new favorite past time. 

Victor withdraws, taking off the condom, tying it, and throwing it away. He then wipes the come off his hand before looking at Yuuri. He’s still flushed, his breathing’s still a bit fast, but the look in Victor’s eyes is that pure affection Yuuri sees more and more. Victor leans down and kisses the corner of Yuuri’s lips, Yuuri reaching up and pulling him close. He always needs the closeness of being held after, and Victor is all too happy to oblige.

Yuuri’s legs feel like jelly, and his heart has swollen to bursting. He sighs. “Can we do that again?”

Victor laughs. “As many times as you want.”

Yuuri smiles before becoming more serious since he’s not sure his next request will go over well. “I...wanna switch next time.”

Victor gets comfortable on his chest, resting his head on his heart. It’s like he’s listening to him breathe, like he’s grounding himself in the natural reflexes of Yuuri’s body. “We can do that.”

“Oh I thought you might argue,” Yuuri replies.

“Hm, no,” Victor says. He moves so he’s facing Yuuri. “I like both. I’d like to know what it’s like with you inside me.”

Yuuri’s mouth goes dry between the innuendo and the heat in Victor’s gaze. “Well. Okay.” Victor’s smile is so bright it puts the stars to shame. For a brief moment Yuuri thinks of Vega and Altair, of a weaver and a cowherd, and he grows flustered, pondering the distance he’d cross to be with Victor even just for today. 

He pushes it aside, his gaze drifting from Victor to the ceiling. His arms tighten around him, and he is content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've received lovely pieces of art for this chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> [From Lai/lainey_rainey on tumblr](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com/post/159397384255/lemonyoi-sinkingorswimming-its-time-he)
> 
>  
> 
> [From Domo](http://domokunrainbowkinz.tumblr.com/post/164241462022/yuuris-heart-thumps-and-with-only-a-brief)


	4. Chugoku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lead up and aftermath of the Chugoku regional competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor is opinionated, well-meaning, annoying, and smooth af. Not in that order. (I had fun with some of Victor's random opinions he tells Yuuri. A couple of them are mine, though we are opposed on horses.)
> 
> Even though most anime fans (especially if you've watched NGE) are familiar with it, in case you're not, "baka" is essentially calling someone an idiot. What Yuuri says in Japanese translates to "I need you so much I can't see straight."
> 
> There is more actual sex in this chapter than there has been in a while so I hope that doesn't bug anyone. (Yeah okay, I know, I'm just saying.)
> 
> Chuck Bass would be proud of Yuuri for the last scene. Also Kubo said Yuuri knows he has an ass that won't quit hence his comment about his best features. I think she also said Yuuri had done Stay Close to Me as his exhibition all season with Victor joining him only at the GPF, but I'd have to dig that up again.
> 
> JJ fans please don't be offended, Victor's attitude is given to us in canon.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37294883282/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuuri stares at three pieces of paper with colored illustrations. He holds two up to his face, his eyes moving back and forth. Then he picks up the third.

He kind of wants to just burn them, if he’s being honest. He’s stared at them so long he no longer sees any nuances or has any preference. “Victor!” he shouts through his open door with a not-so-subtle hint of desperation.

It takes a minute, but Victor arrives since his room is only a few feet away. “Yes?” he drawls with a concerned expression.

“Help.” Yuuri gestures to the papers. He pleads with his eyes for assistance.

Victor melts at his hapless expression. “Oh, _lapochka_ ,” he says as he sits on the bed next to Yuuri. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know which one to pick,” Yuuri says as he gestures to the sheets. They’re design sketches for his costume for the free program. He’s narrowed it to three options, but he can’t make up his mind. 

Victor grabs the drawings as they arrange themselves. Victor sits up with his back against the wall, Yuuri resting against him in between his legs. One of Victor’s arms circles Yuuri’s waist, and Yuuri leans his head back so it rests on Victor’s shoulder. It’s actually more comfortable than it sounds. 

The first outfit is yellow, designed to remind the audience of a bird in flight. “This will make you look sickly.” He tosses it aside as if it’s nothing.

Yuuri’d liked the lines of that, but fair enough. “Okay, so between these two?”

One is a color somewhere between purple and burgundy, a bodysuit like the Eros costume he borrows from Victor. It’s embellished with Swarovskis and sequins in silver, like stars in the night sky. The other is a blue blazer with mesh panels around the waist and back with exquisitely detailed beadwork in a variety of colors, a purple shirt underneath, and pants that are a darker shade of blue than the jacket.

Victor barely glances at the purple before he picks up the blue. “This. This is the one.”

“Really?” Yuuri can’t help but ask.

“It’s your color, you’ll be breathtaking,” Victor explains. “And also the jacket is shorter in back than in front.”

“Why does that make a---” Yuuri freezes. He turns his face and gives Victor a raised eyebrow.

Victor is all smiles. Of course he is. “If not for me, do it for your fans.”

Yuuri knows the glare he’s giving him is far from menacing, especially since Victor’s smile is still so bright. He sighs. “Actually, you have a point. My best features are below my waist.” He realizes the implications too late, and as Victor goes to open his mouth, Yuuri turns a deep red and says, “Shut up.”

“Can I at least say that in my opinion your best feature is above the waist?” Victor says with a small pout.

Yuuri furrows his brows. “No idea what that could be.” He grabs his laptop and emails his designer, giving him the go-ahead on the blue costume and telling him when he can come for fittings.

“Your eyes, Yuuri,” Victor says with reverence. Yuuri goes still, cheeks flushing for a different reason. “It’s a struggle every time to not get lost in them.”

Yuuri makes fists over his keyboard. His heart races out of control. “Oh. Um. Thanks.”

“It’s the truth,” Victor says, pulling him close again. He nuzzles into Yuuri’s neck, which is awfully distracting. 

Yuuri gives up the pretense of sending emails and puts the computer on the floor. Then he adjusts how he sits, moving so he’s turned sideways with his legs over Victor’s left one. He gives Victor a look crossed between salty and sweet. He takes Victor in, the silken hair that covers one of his eyes, the smooth pale skin, the seaglass color of his eyes, and before he can stop himself, he runs his hand over Victor’s cheek. “I need to pick an exhibition program.”

“That’s right,” Victor says. “I’ve been a bad coach. I forgot.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Yuuri orders. It's meaningless.

“Savage as ever,” Victor retorts with a laugh.

“No, you’re a great coach. We both messed this up.” Yuuri smiles at him. “I don’t know...my theme is love. I could use a pop song since I have no real requirement other than showing up.”

“Hm,” Victor says, his eyes clouding as his thoughts deepen. “It’s not a bad idea, I just feel like perhaps there is a better one.”

Yuuri hms, because he agrees. He just doesn’t know what, because there’s a limited amount of time to choreograph a new program before everything gets going full swing. He files through the moves he can do in his head, considering maybe doing his last season free program without ruining it like he did at Nationals for his exhibition when it hits him.

“Victor,” he begins, not sure how the request will go over. He may be stepping on some toes. “What if I do ‘Stay Close to Me’?”

Victor gives him a wide-eyed look. “As in my ‘Stay Close to Me’? Like how you did it in the video?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says with his own eyes bright. “What if we commission a costume to look like yours, but a different color scheme? And I do the program?”

Victor’s face is a complicated mixture of emotions. The ones Yuuri can immediately name are flattery and disbelief, but there’s something deeper, something happier that shines out of his eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”

Yuuri smiles at both the affection and the permission. He’s so glad it makes Victor happy, especially since that’s kind of all he wants these days. He touches his face again, this time with both hands, and he kisses Victor chastely since his door’s still propped open. Though since he’s kissing Victor, one turns into two, which turns into a third, and Yuuri finally makes a noise and pushes them apart. “Cut it out.”

“It’s your own doing, really,” Victor dishes back. “Not my fault you’re irresistible.”

Yuuri gives him a scathing, skeptical look over his glasses, which have slipped down his nose. “Sure. Okay. I’ll be less attractive. I’ll work harder on that than landing my jumps.”

“Oh no,” Victor cries with a mournful face. “You say you will do the impossible!”

Yuuri snickers and rolls his eyes. He pushes on Victor a few times. “Stop.”

Victor retaliates, not by pushing him back, but by jabbing his fingers into Yuuri’s sides. Yuuri cries out before laughing, Victor tickling him mercilessly until he falls on his back on the bed dying of laughter and gasping for air. Victor’s draped over him with a smirk as Yuuri almost suffocates, tears running down his cheeks.

“Stop, stop,” he says while wheezing. “Please. I’ll be good.”

Victor stops, bending so his mouth is by Yuuri’s ear. “I didn’t say you had to be _good_.”

Yuuri shivers as Victor plucks away his glasses, setting them in a safe place. Victor bends down and kisses him, lying in-between Yuuri’s legs, and Yuuri wraps one hand in Victor’s hair, the other around his waist to pull him close. 

The kissing, in spite of their position, stays languid and sweet as opposed to heated, which Yuuri doesn’t mind. After a while though, his brain reminds him that his door is open, and while things aren’t escalating yet, they could at any time. “Wait a second. Let me close the door.”

Victor makes a frustrated noise. “I like you here.”

Yuuri looks up at him. “I like me here too, but I don’t want anyone walking in on us.”

As if on cue, Makkachin serpentines around Yuuri’s door, smiling at the two of them before joining them on the bed. He wedges between them, half-draped on Yuuri, and Victor grumbles while Yuuri laughs. Victor’s annoyance disappears when Makkachin gives him some sweet kisses on his right cheek.

Yuuri hugs them both close since the mood’s been pretty spoiled. Victor shifts his position so he’s next to Yuuri on the overcrowded bed, lying on his side with his arms around them both. Yuuri’s on his back still, Makkachin over him diagonally so he can look right into his dad’s face. Victor pulls out his phone from his back pocket and snaps a photo of the three of them, Yuuri still smiling, Makkachin with love in his gaze, and Victor looking down at Yuuri with a grin. He carefully edits it around them in Snapseed and then starts to put it on Instagram. 

“What are you captioning it?” Yuuri asks. He can’t see clearly since he doesn’t have his glasses.

“Nothing special,” Victor says. 

Yuuri grabs for the phone, Victor pulling it out of his reach. “Let me see!”

“Nope,” Victor says with an impish grin. He uploads it. 

Yuuri suddenly remembers his own phone, and he picks it up. He squints as he opens Instagram, Victor’s post being first on his feed. It’s a cute picture of the three of them, Yuuri’s smile softening when he sees it. _Cozy afternoon with my boys #love #makkachin #katsukiyuuri_ is what’s under it, and Yuuri swallows a little, immediately telling himself not to read into it.

Phichit apparently follows Victor because he’s commented on the post with a string of glittery heart and thumbs up emoji. Yuuri sighs then likes the photo. He’ll yell at Phichit later. Yuuri scrolls down his feed for a second before scrolling back up to Victor’s post.

The visible comment says simply _#ishipit #otp_ , and Yuuri doesn’t follow what that means, but he can’t be bothered to look it up. Then Jean-Jacques Leroy comments with _Cute, but not as much as me and Isabella!_ , and Yuuri rolls his eyes with a disgruntled sound. 

“What?” Victor asks. He’s also on Instagram, looking at a pic posted of Chris Giacometti’s fluffy white cat. “I’m honestly not much of a cat person, but I always pause when I look at Chris’s, she’s a beauty.”

“Maybe that’s why Yurio hates you,” Yuuri says off-handedly. “No, I’m rolling my eyes at JJ.”

“Who?” Victor asks. It’s not a joke, Yuuri can tell by the tone of his voice.

“JJ? Jean-Jacques Leroy? He was bronze at the GPF last year,” Yuuri says while giving him a pointed look.

“Doesn’t really ring a bell,” Victor says and, yeah, he’s still completely serious.

Yuuri decides to not push this line of questioning. “Well anyways, he thinks he and his girlfriend are cuter than us.”

“He clearly is incorrect,” Victor says. “There hasn’t ever existed a couple cuter than us.”

Yuuri’s spent the last five years living in the US with a roommate who follows a lot of celebrities on Instagram. Phichit would sometimes tell him stuff about who was with who or who dumped who, and maybe a third of the time it stuck. So he’s trying to counter Victor with an example, because it’s him and he must, and drawing a blank for a moment before saying, “Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds are pretty cute.”

Victor pauses. “I will grant you that Serena from Gossip Girl can do no wrong, but we’re still cuter.”

Yuuri stares at Victor.

“What?”

“You watch Gossip Girl?” Yuuri is incredulous. None of the magazines ever said anything like this.

“I am a man of varied interests, you know,” Victor answers. “And I’ll never forgive Dan for how he treated Blair at the end.”

Yuuri’s facial expression is equal parts fascinated and amused. “You not only watch Gossip Girl, you have strong opinions about Gossip Girl.”

“I have strong opinions about lots of things,” Victor says, putting down his phone. 

“Give me some examples,” Yuuri says. He sets his phone down too, and positions himself to watch Victor’s face better while he talks. Makkachin woofs and moves to the end of the bed, huffing over his shoulder at them in protest.

“Okay.” Victor thinks. “It is rarely acceptable to mix brown with black in clothing. Horses are hellbeasts with no redeeming qualities. I loathe tomatoes---even when I’m in Italy, I can’t stand the acidity.”

Yuuri is riveted.

Victor continues. “Beyonce’s next album could be her reading a Census data sheet, and it’d be a day one purchase for me, digital and hard copy. Hockey is really fun to watch. Hats are hideous.”

Victor gives Yuuri a soft smile.

“My strongest opinion, though,” and Yuuri takes a moment to marvel at how there could be a hotter take than _hats are hideous_ , “is that you---” He pulls Yuuri close. “Are the most beautiful boy the world has ever seen.”

Yuuri’s eyes go wide, and his face turns stop sign red. He stares at Victor like he didn’t hear him right, like Victor started speaking in Portuguese instead of English. Before he can protest by doing something mild like telling Victor he’s lost his mind, Victor kisses him. All thoughts fly out the window, even about the door being open. Makkachin makes another annoyed sound and leaves the bed as Victor rolls them so Yuuri lies on top of him. 

This time the kissing does get deeper and hotter, and Yuuri forces himself to stop. “Victor---”

Victor starts kissing down his throat.

“Victor---” Yuuri moans. “Victor, the door.”

Victor huffs out a frustrated sigh. 

“It’ll only take twenty seconds,” Yuuri protests. 

Victor looks up at him with a shit eating grin. He taps a finger to Yuuri’s nose. “One. Two.”

Yuuri realizes what he’s doing and scrambles off him to shut the door. It’s slammed closed on _eight_ , and he’s back on the bed at _seventeen_. He may have become superhuman for the occasion. Only time will tell.

Victor pulls him close again and just as Yuuri goes to kiss him, he says, “I’ll miss this the nights before you compete” in a soft, warm voice full of affection.

It’s like the needle getting ripped off a record with a loud scratch at a crowded party.

“What?” Yuuri pulls back with a startled look.

Victor looks like he hasn’t said anything at all out of the ordinary. “As your coach, we can’t sleep together the nights before you compete. It’d be too easy for you to not get enough rest or to possibly injure yourself.”

Yuuri’s face is a cross between crumbled and angry, his eyes sparking with indignity. It feels like a rejection, and he can’t help but be petty. “Shouldn’t that be my call?”

Victor stares at him with a not-small amount of disbelief. “...Are we fighting?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says without hesitating.

Frowning, Victor pushes his hair out of his eyes. He gives Yuuri an appraising stare, his eyes widening when he realizes what Yuuri’s expression means. “Why are you angry? It’s a coaching call, Yuuri, not a boyfriend call. I never had sex with anyone the night before my performances, either, for the same reason. I’m not asking you to do anything I haven’t dealt with myself.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrow. “It’s my risk to take.”

Victor sighs. “Only to a certain extent, Yuuri. I can’t encourage any kind of behavior that will hinder your ability to skate to the best of your prowess. And as much as I loathe this guideline, and believe me, I do loathe it with every fiber of my being, it’s for the best. As your coach sometimes I have to do things in your best interest when you can’t see what that is.”

“You could possibly not rob me of my autonomy in the process,” Yuuri scoffs. “I’m old enough that I have a college degree, you know. And I know my body better than you, I know what I can handle before I compete and what I can’t.”

Victor frowns, and his eyes are full of regret. “ _Lapochka_ ,” he begins. Against what Yuuri prefers, some of the anger leaves him. “I never meant to insult you. I just...I worry, and as I said, when I competed I always made a point to abstain on those nights just in case.”

Yuuri remains irritated. His mouth is twisted, and his eyes are narrowed still. Victor notices, sighing, and he tries to turn on the charm. It works to a degree, damn him, and now that the initial shock is wearing off, Yuuri realizes he may have a point. Sometimes when they’re eager they get a little out of control, and while Yuuri hasn’t had to alter his practice because of soreness yet, it’s not a possibility that can be ruled out.

Yuuri’s eyes roll up to his ceiling. “Can we share a bed at least?”

Victor pauses. “I’m not sure I have the willp---”

“Yes or no,” Yuuri just barely doesn’t bark.

Victor pushes his bangs back a second time, and Yuuri realizes he’s doing it as a nervous tick. “What do you prefer?” Victor tries instead.

“Oh so _now_ I get a say,” Yuuri fires back, because again he’s petty.

“Yuuri,” Victor responds in a tone that’s full of a sharp edge. 

Yuuri can’t tell if the edge is frustrated or pissed. He decides to de-escalate rather than risk the latter. “Yes, I want to share a bed with you the nights before I compete.”

Victor offers a weak smile. “Then I’ll do what I can to resist your charms.”

Yuuri sighs, rubbing his face for a moment. It’s a compromise. “Fine.” He doesn’t move any closer to Victor, who sees this and instead shifts down the mattress to him. Victor puts his arms around him, and in spite of himself, Yuuri relaxes into his embrace. He realizes he’s upset because Victor had a good point, but it’s a good point that makes him sad, and he’s ultimately angry he can’t really outargue him. 

“Are you still upset?” Victor whispers.

Yuuri buries his face in his neck. “Eh.”

Victor chuckles. “May I apologize?”

“Go ahead,” Yuuri says. 

Victor pulls back just enough he can look in Yuuri’s eyes. He kisses his forehead, his jaw, his nose, then his mouth, slowly at first as if he’s worried Yuuri will shove him away. Yuuri allows it, and the second time Victor kisses him, he returns the affection. 

Dozens of them later, and Yuuri’s forgotten why he was even upset.

_\-----_

The CSK meet is tomorrow, and Yuuri shouldn’t be anxious, but he is. He’s the oldest skater in the seniors, the only one at this stage of his career where he has to compete. Logically, it should be a cakewalk.

Yuuri sits cross-legged on Victor’s bed with Makkachin, tapping his finger against his shin. He’s got earbuds in as he listens to “Yuri On Ice,” and the music is loud enough he doesn’t hear Victor open his door. 

He doesn’t notice him enter either until a hand waves in his face. “Yuuri?” he sees rather than hears Victor ask.

Yuuri blinks. Victor sits in front of him, taking out his earbuds. “Hi,” Yuuri says.

“What are you doing?” Victor asks with a smile.

Yuuri shrugs. He doesn’t even know. His anxiety struck so he came here. It made sense at the time.

Victor sits beside Yuuri with his legs stretched out, Makkachin moving to the floor. He wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulls him close. Yuuri’s face ends up in the crook of Victor’s neck, and he inhales his scent. Victor always smells really clean even after they’ve been practicing for hours or had sex, like the first snowfall of winter. 

Yuuri loves the way Victor smells.

Yuuri reaches out a hand, hesitant, before pushing past it and taking Victor’s free one in his. He strokes his thumb over Victor’s knuckle before lacing their fingers together. Then he kisses the side of Victor’s neck and nuzzles closer. Victor looks at him, Yuuri not moving or progressing things. “You should get some rest tonight,” Victor chides him, though it’s gentle.

Yuuri doesn’t speak, but his grip on Victor’s hand tightens. The words get caught in his throat. _I won’t sleep without you. I’m scared I’ll mess up tomorrow. What if I make a fool of myself like I did at Nationals? Please don’t turn me away. I need you._

He buries his face further into Victor’s neck, trying as hard as he can to merge with him physically.

Victor sighs and kisses the top of Yuuri’s head. He squeezes him once. Yuuri can feel some of his anxiety abate---not enough, mind, but some. Yuuri looks up at Victor from under his eyelashes and before he can talk himself out of it, he kisses him. 

Victor makes a small sound of surprise as Yuuri deepens it, pressing Victor on his back into his mattress. Yuuri straddles his hips, kissing him like his life depends on it. Right now his sanity does, and Yuuri knows this can stop his horrid anxiety from ruining his night.

Yuuri bends down further, breaking the kiss to whisper in Victor’s ear, though it takes him a minute to actually get the words out. He’s more successful than he was before as he says, “Please let me fuck you.”

Victor’s breath catches. His hands find Yuuri’s, their fingers sliding together like they did before. “Yuuri, we have that rule---”

Yuuri’s mouth trails from Victor’s ear over the day’s stubble on his jaw to his mouth. When he kisses Victor again, it’s hot and deep; Yuuri hopes Victor gets it, that Victor trusts what Yuuri shows him, that he can understand without words.

Given that Victor sits up, letting go of one of Yuuri’s hands to hold the back of his neck, Yuuri considers it a win. His brain wants to make a pun about victory, but he squashes it. Now isn’t the time. 

Yuuri reaches down and takes off Victor’s shirt followed by his own. Victor’s eyes capture his for a minute, his thumb caressing Yuuri’s cheekbone. Yuuri takes off his glasses, setting them on one of Victor’s side tables, and then he kisses Victor again, sucking on his tongue. 

Victor stiffens---in more ways than one---and Yuuri reaches down, undoing the fly on Victor’s pants. Victor kisses Yuuri’s collarbone as Yuuri reaches into Victor’s pants to cup him through his underwear, causing Victor to groan. “I don’t think you know how weak I am for you,” Victor says.

Yuuri doesn’t answer, lifting himself away from Victor’s hips so he can take the underwear and pants off at once. Victor reciprocates, getting Yuuri naked as fast as his natural grace will allow. They both started keeping condoms and lube in their rooms when this began all those months ago, and Yuuri reaches in Victor’s drawer for his stash. 

Victor starts to get on his hands and knees when Yuuri stops him. A flush fills his cheeks. “I’d like to see your face,” he manages to say.

Victor smiles. “Far be it from me to deny you, _lapochka_ ,” he says. He lies on his back, putting a pillow underneath the small of it. Yuuri kneels in between his legs, letting some lube warm on his hand before pushing his index finger inside Victor to the second knuckle. He slides it in and out, waiting until there’s very little resistance before adding the second finger. He then furrows his brow as he searches, a loud moan from Victor becoming his reward when he presses into his prostate. 

They switch on and off, have since Yuuri got comfortable enough to ask for this, and Yuuri really adores the sounds that he can pull from Victor’s throat with his hand. They’re raw, unrestrained, and erotic, and Yuuri rarely feels like he has control in life like he has with this. He adds the third finger, and Victor grips the headboard so hard his knuckles turn white. 

Yuuri’s done this often enough he knows when it’s time without having to be told, so he removes his fingers and grabs the condom, opening the packet and rolling it over his this-side-of-pain cock. He coats the condom in the lubricant and grabs Victor’s legs, bending them over his elbows as he slides into him. 

At this point, Victor needs this, but Yuuri needs it much more to shut his head up. He slides in and out of Victor, slow and deliberate, and Victor reaches up, his hands caressing Yuuri’s face as he moves. Yuuri manages a smile as he presses a kiss to one of Victor’s palms. His thrusts are hard enough the bed shakes, Victor’s eyes closing as he takes it, takes everything Yuuri has to give, calling out a litany of _Yuuri_ and _lapochka_ and _more_.

When Victor can’t use English anymore, Yuuri can tell he’s close. He bends down, letting go of one leg to jack him. Yuuri’s face is next to Victor’s ear now, and he whispers, “ _Boku wa massugu miru koto ga dekinai hodo anata ga hitsuyōdesu._ ”

Victor comes with a small shout, his semen splattering Yuuri’s chest and both of their stomachs. Yuuri buries his face in Victor’s neck as he continues to move, his rhythm speeding after Victor’s release. He’s so close, almost there---

Victor comes back to himself, and he turns his face to the side, licking and then biting Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri’s shout is muffled by his skin as that seemingly small act pushes him over the edge, his vision going white as he falls from that peak. Yuuri stills, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he held. Victor kisses his cheek, his forehead, the corner of his lips, and Yuuri comes back down to Earth. He pulls out of Victor, disposing of the condom quickly and efficiently. 

Then he flops into Victor’s arms. His traitorous brain has been silenced. Yuuri snuggles into Victor’s neck, kissing his throat with featherlight presses of his lips. Victor laughs as Yuuri joins his clean hand with Victor’s again and nuzzles his neck. “You’re more affectionate tonight,” Victor says around a chuckle. “Be careful. I might think you like me or something.”

Yuuri swallows. “Of course I _like_ you,” he says. “Why else would I be dating you?”

Victor hms. “I suppose that’s a start.”

Yuuri isn’t sure what he means, but his tone of voice says he’s joking around. “ _Baka_ ,” Yuuri complains with affection. 

Snorting, Victor kisses his head. “Now I really must insist you sleep, because tomorrow is a long day,” he says with the tone Yuuri thinks of as his _stern coach_ voice. Victor reaches over to turn off the lights, and Yuuri pulls down the covers. They tuck themselves in, Makkachin deeming it safe to join them and cuddling up with his head on Yuuri’s hip. 

For the first time in his life, Yuuri sleeps easily before a competition.

_\-----_

Minus smashing his face into a wall like a hockey player, Yuuri does great in the CSK competition, breaking several of his personal records and handily beating his score from the last GPF. He places first, much to Victor’s delight. 

Even though he doesn’t quite get why anyone would look up to him, let alone skaters, he does give Minami and the others autographs and selfies with them. He can’t promise he’ll still be skating when Minami makes it to the Grand Prix series, but it’s flattering he wants to compete against him at such a high level.

Instead of going straight back to the onsen like Yuuri would have assumed, Victor has hired a car. He gestures for Yuuri to get inside it, and Yuuri gives him a wary look. Victor touches his lips with his gloved index finger. Then he points inside the car.

Yuuri makes a face but gets in. Victor follows him, closing the door. Victor has apparently learned enough Japanese to give the driver an address, rolling down the partition to do so, and off they go.

Yuuri gives Victor a suspicious look. “What’s all this?”

Victor’s smile softens. “Celebration.” 

There’s a bottle of champagne in a chiller, and Victor pops the cork. He hands Yuuri a glass, Yuuri still giving him a wary look as he pours some for himself. “I could have lost, you know.”

Victor shakes his head. “That wouldn’t have happened, but if it had then we would be drowning our sorrows.”

Yuuri’s heart warms. “You believe in me,” he says.

Victor’s smile turns confused. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t coach you otherwise.” His free hand takes Yuuri’s. “And I believe in you off the ice, too.”

Yuuri looks at Victor with a soft expression, his mouth going dry. He sips the champagne to hide the blush on his face as the car moves down the highway. Here in the back of a limo with Victor...it’s nice.

“Yuuri,” Victor begins after spending part of the drive in silence. “How would you feel about the two of us doing something after the Grand Prix Final?”

“Like what?” Yuuri asks as he looks out the window.

“I was thinking I’d take you for a week to the Maldives,” Victor says, seemingly casual. “I know a beautiful resort there, we’d have our own private pool and garden attached to our bungalow---”

Yuuri spits out his champagne. He turns to Victor with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

Victor blinks. Then he gets a look of understanding on his face. “You’d prefer some place like Mauritius or maybe Bali?”

“No, it’s just---” Yuuri sputters. He tries and fails to formulate a coherent reply. “That’s...romantic,” he settles on after a while.

“That’s the point,” Victor says with a gentle smile.

Victor has been Yuuri’s boyfriend for a while now, but on some level he didn’t realize the extent of what that means. Couples do things like take trips together, Yuuri knows this, but Victor whisking him away for a romantic getaway is a plan that just, frankly, never occurred to him. 

They’re really serious.

Yuuri still doesn’t think he’s in love with Victor, but there’s something there he realizes that grows a little every day. He likes learning about Victor too much, his laughter makes him too happy, for there to not be. He wants to keep him, he realizes. He wants Victor to be a part of his life for the duration, not just until the season’s up.

Yuuri smiles, but his hands sweat and shake. He subtly wipes one on his pants. “The Maldives sound nice. I’ve never been.”

Victor’s eyes gleam with pleasure. “You’ll never see more crystalline water. And it’s so warm, _lapochka_ , like a bath. We’ll only be beholden to ourselves, too---no cell service really on the islands. Just us and whatever we feel like doing.”

It actually sounds too good to be true, Yuuri thinks. “Will we---if I don’t win...the trip will still happen right?”

Victor finishes his drink and sets his glass in a cupholder. He closes the distance between them, cupping Yuuri’s face in his hands. Yuuri gets lost in his seaglass eyes for several minutes. “Win, lose, or draw,” Victor says. “I just want to get away with you, and we can’t until then. Otherwise, we’d go right now.”

Yuuri stares at him. His sets his drink down so his hands can cover Victor’s on his face. He doesn’t know what to say, so he does the next best thing and kisses him. When they part, Yuuri still can’t quite bring himself to speak so he nods a bunch of times. Victor’s smile brightens so much Yuuri thinks he’s like an unobstructed full moon, glowing and lighting the night for all to see. 

His heart gets caught in his throat. 

Victor pours himself more champagne, and he gestures for Yuuri to toast him. They do, though Yuuri’s smile is a little shaky, but Victor kisses him so sweetly his reservations fade for the time being. 

The car stops, and the driver tells them they’ve arrived after opening the door. Victor steps out, helping Yuuri with a hand in a gallant way, and they enter a restaurant called Kawatarou. Yuuri’s heard talk of it, but he’s not prepared to sit at a table next to a live squid pool. 

Victor sits beside him, and it’s incredibly intimate. It only just now occurs to Yuuri that Victor has brought him here to not only celebrate but as a date, and his face heats up. It's much more extravagant than their usual places. He just keeps surprising him, Yuuri realizes.

He hopes, deep down inside, he never stops.

The meal is one of the best Yuuri’s ever had, and when the chef hears who they are, he comes out to personally express his gratitude to them for dining at his establishment. Yuuri flushes at the attention, but he thanks him graciously on behalf of himself and Victor. Victor also thanks him with the Japanese he knows, and as a result, the chef makes a special course just for them.

Yuuri is a bit dazzled and disoriented by the preferential treatment. “This never happens,” he says.

Victor gives him a strange look. “You’re the sixth best men’s figure skater in the world, soon to be the first. Why shouldn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t get out much,” Yuuri reminds him. “No one ever recognized me or Phichit in Detroit. I’m kind-of only used to it in Hasetsu, and sometimes when I go to Tokyo I get noticed...though even then, not really because I lived out of the country for five years.”

Victor rests his chin on one hand. “You should embrace it. It won’t last forever.”

Yuuri knows that better than Victor must realize. He thinks back to earlier, when Victor said he was disappointed in him not being more supportive of Minami, because he realizes partly what bothers Victor is his awkwardness about his notoriety. “I’ll try to.”

They finish their meal, Victor paying the check (and not having it when Yuuri offers to pay his half), and they get back into their car for the drive to Hasetsu. Yuuri reels because he knows how much this is setting Victor back, and he can’t afford to reciprocate. He’s been pinching pennies for the coaching fee since Victor never gave a number, just that there is one, but Yuuri still has the canceled checks from Celestino so he knows it won’t be cheap.

They’re sitting a foot apart on the back seat, and the partition’s up. Yuuri bites his bottom lip for a second before putting his glasses in his jacket pocket. He rests his hands on Victor’s left thigh. Victor looks at him sideways. “Yes?”

Yuuri’s got some look on his face, he figures, because Victor’s cheeks turn red. He pulls Victor by his tie into his personal space. Yuuri leans in, kissing him just barely to the left of his mouth, then giving him the full press of his lips. Victor’s slow to respond, probably from shock, as Yuuri deepens the kiss to leave no room in his head for doubting his intentions. 

They make out for a while, not even taking a break to breathe until Yuuri’s satisfied Victor’s well and truly wound up. He pulls back, and Victor’s a sight that hits Yuuri in his cock and his heart---hair mussed, eyes dazed, lips swollen and red. Victor blinks a few times, his mouth working with no sound coming out. “Here?” he asks with an incredulous tone.

Yuuri swallows. “Don’t talk me out of it.” 

He kisses him again, his hand knotting itself in Victor’s necktie as he makes sure next time Victor won’t question it. They part again, and Victor makes an incoherent cross between a moan and a whine that Yuuri only gets to hear on special occasions.

Good.

Yuuri reaches down, pushing aside Victor’s open suit jacket to undo his belt. He pulls it out and drops it to the ground unceremoniously.

“That’s Ferragamo,” Victor manages to complain.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, shutting Victor up when he undoes the fly on his trousers. Victor’s definitely hard and ready, and Yuuri pulls his cock out of his briefs. He makes eye contact with Victor for a second, making sure it’s okay, and once Victor nods, he bends down and goes to work.

Yuuri has gotten much, much better at this in the last few months. It doesn’t phase him at all anymore, and the reaction from Victor is great. He feels a hand drop into his hair, not enough to push him down but enough to pull his hair as he gives Victor what he hopes he will remember as the perfect blowjob. 

Yuuri chances a glance up as he takes Victor deep in his throat, and he sees that Victor’s stuffed his fist in his mouth to muffle himself. It...kind of works. He backs off to the tip, pumping Victor with his fist, his other hand stroking his perineum, and Victor drops his fist to call out a warning. Yuuri relaxes his throat and Victor comes, Yuuri stroking him through it as he swallows it all.

Victor’s hand loosens in Yuuri’s hair, him not having realized how hard Victor grasped it until then. His scalp stings, but in a really good way. Victor pulls on him so he sits up and kisses him. He pushes on Yuuri’s shoulders until Yuuri lies on his back on the seat, Victor kneeling between his legs. He pulls down Yuuri’s pants and boxers, and then he bends down, working Yuuri with his mouth.

Yuuri’s hands cover his face, mostly to muffle his voice, as Victor makes him come with quickly with his fist and mouth. They giddily straighten themselves out, Yuuri handing Victor his belt from the floor.

When they get back to the onsen, Victor fucks Yuuri against the wall of his room until they’re both exhausted. Yuuri falls into an easy sleep in Victor’s arms, so tired and happy he doesn’t even dream.


	5. The Press Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous press conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri figures a thing or two out, and some truths get told, and some other stuff gets clarified or elaborated on.
> 
> Also Phichit is a matchmaking gremlin, has always been a matchmaking gremlin, and will always be a matchmaking gremlin. I feel this interpretation is justified. Also I couldn't resist the name I gave Favorite Hamster.
> 
> Yuuri's favorite flavor of Calpico is actually my favorite too. I don't agree with Victor's harsh review of the peach, though. I love all Calpicos, but not equally and not for the same reasons.
> 
> I deliberately didn't wax poetic about Yuuri's busted feet in the first section, but still there is a mention of blood so be warned if that's something necessary for you to enjoy reading. The info about Chris and Yuuri knowing each other since Juniors and having each other's digits is on the YOI wiki. I don't think they really got to know each other until recently, though.
> 
> Victor in the second section is listening to "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon because I'm kind of convinced Kubo heard it when she had to plot episode ten and was like "I know what I must do." 
> 
> We should all probably know the translation of the Russian phrase at the tail end of the fic by now. But if not, I'll put it in a note at the end.
> 
> Hey the next chapter is Beijing if you've been missing Phichit or waiting for Chris and Yakov.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37314882812/in/dateposted-public/)

Yuuri has been somewhat panicky and anxious since he woke up the day after the Chugoku championship. Though he doesn’t think he’s let it on to anyone, especially not Victor. He hopes, anyhow, that Victor doesn’t know since he’s somewhat the source of it.

The truth is, realizing how serious they are has kind of freaked him out. This wasn’t supposed to become that way, but it has, and that fact makes Yuuri happy. The happiness in turn makes him anxious, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had this idea in the beginning to keep it casual, but now he not only has the strings, he _wants_ the strings, he wants the strings to never end, and he’s not sure how to think of himself.

Well, or Victor, since apparently Victor thinks strings are great. Weird. Not what he’d always been told or expected. 

He does the Ina Bauer in “Yuri on Ice,” drifting to the soft strains of the piano. He gestures, he glides, he’s beauty, he’s grace, and he’s ignoring Victor to try and get through it without ramming into a wall again.

The violin joins back in, the music melding into a crescendo and Yuuri finishes it, doing all his jumps the way they’ve been choreographed. The program represents his career as a skater and how he found love, but it only starts to click when he keeps his thoughts on Victor and not the Nishigoris, Minako, his family, or Phichit.

He probably should examine that more, but Victor’s slow clapping diverts his attention. Yuuri skates to him, the blades spraying ice chips as he stops. He takes a drink of water and wipes his face on a towel Victor hands him.

“It wasn’t bad,” Victor begins. “Though you can do much better.”

Yuuri expected that so he’s not offended. He nods instead of arguing. He doesn’t really argue with Victor about his skating often, to be honest. He’s the Living Legend and Yuuri isn’t, after all.

Victor raises his index finger to his lips like he does when he’s lost in thought. “Sometimes, you don’t look happy when you skate this. Sometimes you look frustrated.”

“I’m worrying about the jumps,” Yuuri replies.

“Right, but that’s when you flub them,” Victor continues. “And this piece is about your love...I can tell when you focus on that and not the technical details. It’s a world of difference between how it’s performed. Once again, you have to practice like there’s a crowd or else it’s worthless.”

Yuuri sighs. “Okay.” He goes to move back to center ice, assuming Victor wants him to run through it again. Instead Victor whistles, gesturing for him to come back. Yuuri gives him a quizzical look as he stops in front of him for the second time in so many minutes.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Victor says. “Come. Let’s get you out of your skates and to Minako’s studio for your off-rink training.”

Yuuri gets off the ice, putting on his skate guards. He does so, balancing by placing his right hand on Victor’s far shoulder. Victor allows it without commentary, just watching Yuuri with affection filling his face.

He still doesn’t know what it means when Victor looks at him that way. He really ought to ask. He’s afraid to ask. So he doesn’t.

Victor escorts him to the locker room, where Yuuri takes off his skates and socks. There’s blood on one, and he grimaces when he sees it. Victor frowns at him. “Have you been skating like this the whole time?”

Yuuri hesitates. “The last hour.”

Victor gives him a look that almost could be considered a glare. He finds the popped blister on Yuuri’s foot that’s still bleeding somewhat sluggishly. “You need to tell me these things, it’s no good for any of us if you’re in pain,” he says. 

He gets up and heads into the rink office, where Yuuri can hear Nishigori talk to him. “It’s not the first time,” Nishigori explains. “And as a warning, it won’t be the last.”

Victor makes an aggrieved sound before walking back to Yuuri. He kneels in front of him, checking his other foot for similar problems. Fortunately, that one’s just mottled with bruises. 

Well not _just_ , but it’s an occupational hazard.

Victor cleans the blister and bandages it. Then he starts massaging Yuuri’s foot, which is fine by him. It started cramping a little when he took the skate off, and Yuuri leans back on his hands, his head dropping to his chest. 

“You really should take better care of yourself,” Victor scolds in a low whisper. “You can’t perform to your best like this. You can’t be the best you at all if you’re pushing yourself to a breaking point.”

Victor’s right, of course, and Yuuri got similar lectures from Celestino and Phichit. He doesn’t complain or argue--- he lets the fatigue wash over him while Victor loosens the muscles in his feet with his hands. It feels great, and Yuuri is content in a way he isn’t outside of their bed, making a low murmur with a small smile. “That feels amazing.”

Victor smiles up at him. “I'm glad. I like making you feel good.”

Yuuri gives Victor a scrutinizing look before he realizes there's not supposed to be any kind of entendre in that statement. It's an innocent comment. "You're good at this."

Victor’s smile doesn’t change. “Thanks. I try.”

Yuuri hums, rotating his head around to crack his neck. The pop is loud and satisfying, causing Yuuri to sigh. He raises his arms like chicken wings, brings his shoulder blades together, and cracks his upper back in at least five places. He’d had the beginnings of a headache, but just with those two actions it disappears as if it never was.

The human body is annoying and weird.

Victor finishes his massage, his hands moving up to Yuuri’s calf inside his favorite Puma pants. Yuuri groans now, his mood ascending from contented to ecstasy. Victor’s hands are skilled, firm but gentle, and Yuuri doesn’t know how he’ll even get off the bench, let alone go to Minako’s and dance for two hours.

Victor finishes with his calf, and without checking to see if there are other observers, presses a kiss to the arch of Yuuri’s foot. He repeats the motions on the first leg---a lengthy massage of the muscles in Yuuri’s calf followed by a kiss.

Yuuri tilts his head with a mixture of exasperation and fondness on his face. Maybe that’s the word he should use for how he feels for Victor---he’s _fond_ of him. Something nags at him about it, like perhaps it’s not enough, but it’ll do for now. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to declare it outside of his thoughts. Saying it out loud is a little bit like this book he had to read for his literature requirement that a woman named Jane Austen wrote. It’s a bit like telling Victor he has a good family so their engagement is acceptable.

Not that he’s going to marry Victor.

Part of him wonders why not before the anxiety and logic essentially shoot it in the face. Of course he’s not marrying Victor---Victor’s not the marrying kind, and Yuuri’s not sure he is either.

Though he can’t help but visualize a gold band on his finger, even if for moment. It brings him back to that high he had during the massage. Yuuri realizes he’s openly staring at his hand and shakes himself. He looks at Victor. “Sorry, I spaced.”

“You’re tired,” Victor says. “And your day is only half over.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees. He puts on his trainers, wincing briefly at the pressure on the bandage. Victor will take his skating equipment home, and Yuuri grabs his bag with his dance shoes and leggings. He makes himself stand, his legs feeling more like legs and less like taut cable. “See you at home?” he asks.

Victor winks at him, Yuuri’s heart doing a samba at the sight. Before he can remind him they’re not really alone, Victor kisses his hand. Yuuri flushes, his breath catching in his throat. He has to get his hand out of Victor’s grip, but he doesn’t want to which means he’s at an impasse.

Victor makes the call for him. “You’ll be late.” He lets Yuuri go.

“Oh!” Yuuri says. He hurries out of the locker room, tuning to Spotify on his phone and plugging in his earbuds. The song that played when Victor danced with him in his room comes up, and Yuuri walks across town to it.

_And my momma swore she’d never let herself forget, and that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist. But darlin’, you are the only exception---_

Yuuri thinks of Victor while the song plays, the thought of marrying him coming back to the forefront of his mind. Victor doesn’t love him, and Yuuri doesn’t love Victor. They care for each other, they’re together, but it isn’t love.

What Yuuri should do is ask himself that if it’s not love, then why does this song get to him so much? Why does it make his heart swell and shrink all at once?

_\-----_

Yuuri’s alarm goes off, and he almost ignores it before he realizes what day it is. It’s the one morning he absolutely cannot push snooze or roll over, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes for a minute. 

Victor sits up next to him. He looks disoriented, his hair sticking up in back and his eyes half-lidded with sleep. “ _Lapochka?_ ”

“The press conference,” Yuuri reminds him. He has to be on a train in an hour. With a loud sigh, he puts his feet over the side of the bed, steeling himself to actually get out of it. He counts to five and then does it. It’s always been a family joke how little Yuuri can tolerate waking up. Victor’s in on it as well by this point, more often than not having to drag him to the rink before open skate hours commence. 

The word drag is barely an exaggeration.

Yuuri stretches, pulling on his clothes from the night before. Victor lies back down, though he’s propped up on his elbows, as he watches him get dressed. “What time is the broadcast?”

“Noon,” Yuuri answers. He tilts his head to one side, and his neck cracks. Then he repeats it on the other. At this rate he’ll have the body of an elderly man by the time he’s twenty-five. Probably for the best he’s retiring in three months, then.

Victor nods, wincing with sympathy when his neck cracks. “I’ll be supporting you. We all will.”

Yuuri smiles. He climbs back on the bed, fully dressed, leans down, and kisses Victor chastely on the mouth. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Victor caresses his face with the back of his left hand. Yuuri softens, but he knows if he bends an inch he won’t leave. 

He pulls himself away, petting Makkachin a few times for good luck with the fluffy poodle opening one eye at him, and sneaks to the showers. He cleans himself up, tip-toeing back to his room where he puts on his suit, ties a four-in-hand in his favorite light blue necktie, fixes his hair, and puts on his glasses. He’ll take them off when he’s on camera---the lights reflect too much off them, and people can’t see his eyes---but he needs them to read the signs in the stations. 

It’s unseasonably warm so he doesn’t put on a jacket as he travels, reading the news on his phone after he puts it in Manner Mode. It’s too early to text Phichit, so he refrains. Instead he takes a rare selfie and posts it to his Instagram, which he uses more to keep up with everyone else than he does to share his life. Who would be interested, for one thing, and for another it’s self-aggrandizing in a way he doesn’t feel comfortable with.

Victor gets on him about it, something about cultivating his brand as Japan’s Ace, but he ends up in pictures with Victor so often they may as well have a joint account.

He goes from one train to the next, giving up his seat to a woman with a baby when she gets on two stops after him. She nods in thanks before recognizing him and almost forgets etiquette to call out his name. She catches herself in the nick of time, instead whispering “Good luck this season” as she sits.

Yuuri smiles and bows his head at her.

He’s arrived at his stop, and he exits the train, walking to the television station. He signs in, his escort showing him to make up which he always hates. It makes his skin feel clammy even though he doesn’t sweat that much. He also has a hard time keeping his eyes open during the eye make-up, and he jerked away so badly once he got a mascara wand in his right eye.

He saw black spots for two days.

He gets on stage with the other athletes, holding a board under his arm with his theme written on it. Newscaster Morooka is off to the side---he’s the host for this broadcast, and while sometimes he gets a little too personal, Yuuri appreciates that he’s here since he’s a familiar face.

Yuuri places his glasses in the pocket on the inside of his blazer. It’s just about time. He takes several deep breaths. The broadcast begins, and after a few people, Morooka calls him forward.

Yuuri displays the board with a pink face.

“My theme in this year’s Grand Prix series is ‘love’.”

The camera flashes ring out in the room.

“I’ve been helped by many people in my competitive skating career thus far, but I’ve never thought about ‘love’ until now.” Yuuri pauses to swallow. “Though I was blessed with support, I couldn’t take full advantage of it. I always felt like I was fighting alone.”

He thinks back to the end of March, walking out to the spring and seeing Victor there.

_Starting today, I’m your coach! I’ll help you win the Grand Prix final!_

Something takes over Yuuri, something that feels frighteningly like resolve. For once, he feels his heart turn strong instead of fragile like glass. For once, he feels truly brave. He feels like he can conquer the world.

“But since Victor showed up to be my coach, I’ve seen something totally different.”

It hits him like he’s struck by thunder---love is his theme because love is _how he feels_ , it’s in the way his heart races when Victor smiles a certain way or touches the inside of his wrist. It’s in the looks they share, it’s in the moments stolen in dark corners of Yu-Topia when he knows his parents are too busy to catch them. It’s in the tempo of his pulse, it’s in the breaths he draws...it’s love. 

Somehow he’s fallen in love.

But it’s more than love, too, it’s something like wanting forever. It’s something more than happiness, more than joy even. Love almost isn’t enough to describe it.

His thoughts shift to Minako, his family, the Nishigoris, Phichit, the people of Hasetsu. It’s not just love of Victor. It’s the love of the people closest to him, it’s the love of the people in his life.

“My ‘love’ is not something clear-cut like romantic love, but the more abstract feeling of my relationships with Victor, family, and hometown...I was finally able to realize something like love exists all around me.”

He’s being stared at. Not like the normal staring that happens at these things. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Morooka’s jaw hanging open. He should stop.

He really should stop, but instead he doubles down.

“Victor is the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to.” Oh God, Yuuri, _no_. His words gain in intensity to the point where he feels like he sounds insane. “I don’t really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it ‘love.’ Now that I know what love is and am stronger for it, I’ll prove it to myself with a Grand Prix Final gold medal!”

He’s actually shouting, his fist raised in the air like a show of power. What the hell, Yuuri? Settle down. He takes his own advice and settles down, putting a big grin on his face and waving at the cameras.

The cameras are still going but the audience is dead silent, the other athletes and Morooka too. Morooka, though, is the first to regain his composure. “Ah, yes,” he says after clearing his throat. “Thank you, Katsuki Yuuri.”

Yuuri manages to pry his hand off the microphone, bow, and sit back down. He’d bury his face in his hands but he’s on television.

The rest of the conference passes in a blur including the Q&A after. Without even registering it, he’s on a train back to Hasetsu. It’s a time like this he thinks about getting a pair of thick sunglasses like Victor wears so when he can’t wear a hoodie people won’t see his face. He’d have to get them in a prescription, though, which is both expensive and lacking efficiency. It’s something to consider, though.

Yuuri rubs his left hand with his right on the second train. He swallows, though it’s thick, because not only has he just realized he’s in love with Victor, he did so by shouting it from the rooftops. He may as well have hired a skywriter, assuming people still do that.

Well but...maybe Victor won’t have understood. He’s not sure how much Japanese Victor knows, to be honest...he thinks he’s somewhat conversational at this point, but he doesn’t know if what he said flew under his RADAR or not. He tries to calm himself down until he has a reason to panic.

He leaves the Hasetsu station in a daze, taking off his suit jacket and heading to his home by muscle memory. Once he arrives, he’s greeted by his family, the Nishigoris, and a put-out looking Minako.

His mom breaks the ice. “Oh Yuuri,” she says with stars in her eyes.

It sets him at ease enough to take in their faces. No one looks mad or insulted, just varying degrees of pleased and confused. 

Yu-chan is next. “‘Love is all around you’? About time you realized it.” She musses his hair affectionately, and he ducks his head with a flush as her husband pats him on the back four times hard. “You’re a dingus, Yuuri.”

“Yeah,” he agrees; she doesn’t know the half of it.

“Yuuri-kun,” the triplets call. “Go, go Yuuri-kun! Do your best!”

He kneels down to their eye level. “Thanks, girls.” Their grins make them look like imps, but that’s just their faces. Yuuri walks to Minako, able to tell what’s wrong---she doesn’t appreciate being called “abstract.” He gives her a gesture, opening his hands wide like he’s going in for a hug.

Minako raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment at first. Then she sighs, the severity of her expression softening. She opens her arms to him, and they hug, though it’s a bit awkward as they’ve not done this terribly often. He always visualizes her so tall, and holding her for this brief moment makes him realize that he has several inches on her now. They part, and she pats his shoulder.

“Victor’s in his room,” she says, low enough only he can hear.

Yuuri feels the blood drain out of his face. “Ah, okay.”

It’s just delaying the inevitable, so he pulls back from everyone and walks to Victor’s room. Music plays from inside it, loud enough Yuuri can hear it through the closed door. It takes a beat but he recognizes the song.

_Oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me---I said you’re holding back, she said shut up and dance with me! This woman is my destiny, oh oh oh, shut up and dance with me!_

Yuuri knocks.

The music gets turned down, and Victor opens the door. His eyes light up. “Yuuri, you’re home! Come in.”

So far, so good, or rather, so far Victor’s not telling him to never talk to him again or saying things like ‘it’s not you, Yuuri, it’s me.’

Yuuri walks into the room, and Victor closes the door behind him. He gives Yuuri a bright smile. “What an interesting press conference.”

Yuuri’s jaw locks as he sits stiffly on the bed. His hands ball into fists. “Yeah.”

“I’d never heard you shout before,” Victor continues. “At least, not like that.”

Yuuri swallows. “Uh, yeah.”

Victor doesn’t have the expression of a person about to dump someone, but then Yuuri’s never been dumped before so he may be working with a faulty assumption. “Though...you spoke too quickly for me to catch more than a few words strung together here or there. I did catch my name when you said it, though.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. He silently pleads to God that Victor not inquire further.

The God that heard him is a trickster who enjoys messing with him, apparently. “Can you tell me what you said? It seemed important to you, and I’m curious.”

Yuuri’s hands have a slight tremor he desperately hopes Victor can’t see. Victor’s face is all calm expectation, though, and he’s laser-focused on Yuuri’s eyes. “I said that I always thought I was alone, but now thanks to you I can tell that I’m surrounded by love.”

Victor’s eyebrow disappears under his fringe. “I see. Is that all?”

Yuuri has the feeling he’s being given an out, and he should take it.

He doesn’t.

“I um,” he begins. “Um, I said that...I never...I’ve only---” He tries again. “I want to hold on to you,” tumbles out of his mouth, almost so fast he can’t tell where the words separate.

Victor’s expression softens. His eyes get bright, almost startlingly so, shining like faceted aquamarines. His smile is so infectious Yuuri, in spite of his nerves, can’t help but return it. “You want to hold on to me.”

The words are full of wonder and happiness. Yuuri doesn’t know how to process this. “Yes?”

Victor claps his hands together, the noise ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot. Yuuri jumps out of reflex because he still doesn’t understand what’s happening. Victor crosses the room, fastest Yuuri’s ever seen him move by the way, and he picks Yuuri up into a tight hug. He sways him back and forth, holding him so close Yuuri almost can’t breathe.

“After your first reactions to me, and how you acted when I asked you if you wanted me to be your boyfriend on the beach, I decided I’d let you come to me,” Victor says in his ear. “And you did, though not the way I anticipated, but now---”

His voice is so tender, joyous, and caring, Yuuri sags. His eyes sting from tears of relief. Victor’s wanted him all along? Victor wants them to stay together? “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not complicated, _lapochka_ ,” Victor says. “The point is I don’t ever want to let you go. And you feel the same.”

It almost seems too good to be true, but Yuuri manages to (for once in his life) put those bad thoughts away. For once, he just lets himself be...happy. Victor pulls back, looking in Yuuri’s eyes, and kisses him. Yuuri kisses back but not with much fervor, at least not compared to normal. 

Victor notices. He gives Yuuri a concerned look.

“I am---” Yuuri begins. “Emotionally exhausted. I was assuming you’d reject me.”

“Why?” Victor asks. He looks insulted, his eyes losing some of their sparkle.

“Because I’m an idiot, I guess,” Yuuri answers with a dark laugh.

“Nothing of the sort, _lapochka_ ,” Victor scolds.

“What does that mean, anyhow?” Yuuri finally asks. It only just occurred to him to wonder. 

Victor steers him back to the bed, gesturing for him to sit. He kneels in front of Yuuri and begins the delicate process of undoing his tie. He pulls it out from Yuuri’s collar, and he folds it on the floor. Then he works on the buttons of Yuuri’s shirt. When he undoes the cuffs, he kisses the insides of Yuuri’s wrists. He pulls the shirt off, undressing Yuuri like a doll, and he rests it on the floor. Yuuri’s in a white t-shirt and his dress slacks and shoes. 

Victor removes the brogues, his socks, then takes off Yuuri’s pants. He’s just in his boxers and the undershirt. “ _Lapochka_ ,” Victor begins, and Yuuri actually forgot the topic of conversation. “The English equivalent is something like ‘sweetie pie’, I believe.”

Yuuri now has four new cavities. If it were anyone else in the world he’d complain, but coming from Victor it’s adorable. “I’ll allow it.”

Victor snorts. “You’re very magnanimous.”

“And you’re secretly this giant dork,” Yuuri says as Victor lies them down, Yuuri’s head pillowed on his chest. “I can’t believe I used to think you were too cool to talk to.”

“I am intimidating sometimes,” Victor says in a serious tone. “Ask Chris.”

“Chris...Giacometti?” Yuuri asks. He isn’t sure who else Victor knows.

“Yeah,” Victor answers. “I met him when he was fresh-faced and starry-eyed.”

Yuuri met Chris in Juniors, and they have each other’s phone numbers, but he didn’t really get to know him until last year. From what he recalls, those aren’t the words he’d use. “Huh.”

“We were all young once,” Victor reminds him. “I can feel your judgment from here.”

“I’m not judging,” Yuuri protests. He can sense Victor staring at him. “Okay fine, he used ‘Dirrty’ for his free skate. It’s hard to picture him ever being innocent.”

Victor laughs. “I had actually forgotten that. I can see how that’d cause an issue.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply with anything more than a small affirmative noise. Victor’s hand rests over his heart, and Yuuri slides his underneath, picking them both up and twining their fingers together. He stares up at them, his more olive skin next to Victor’s cream. It’s the first time he’s ever really contemplated how they look as a pair, and he decides that while Victor is obviously the better looking one, together they aren’t bad.

Victor leans down, his breath caressing Yuuri’s ear, and Yuuri shifts his legs as he clears his throat. “Are you still tired?”

The timber of his voice is all Yuuri needs to know what Victor’s after. He steels himself to disappoint him, worried about what he’ll say. “Yeah, I just...I’d rather do this. If, um, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” Victor asks, though it’s not pushy. “I’ll show you heaven if you let me.”

Yuuri freezes. He turns slowly. “Did you just---”

Victor’s smile is far too innocent.

The look Yuuri gives Victor could strip asbestos out of an old building. “I take it back. I don’t want to hold on to you. I’m never letting you touch me again.”

Victor gasps. “ _Lapochka!_ So cruel.”

“You know what you did,” Yuuri says.

Victor holds him closer, and Yuuri, in spite of himself, relents. “Okay, fine. No more pick-up lines.”

“There is a God,” Yuuri deadpans. 

He settles down, burying his face in Victor’s chest. His breathing begins to deepen and even out as Victor’s scent surrounds him. Victor says something, the words soothing and soft, but Yuuri doesn’t hear them as he drifts off to sleep.

_\-----_

Yuuri wakes up at some point after dark, completely disoriented and baffled. His glasses had been on, he thought, when he fell asleep earlier, but apparently Victor removed them and now he has no idea where they are.

There’s one lamp on, and Victor is actually awake, his arms arranged around Yuuri’s head so he can look at a tablet without obstruction and with earbuds in. Yuuri blinks at him before pulling one out so Victor can hear him. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“Enough that you might have problems for the rest of the night,” Victor answers with honesty. “I tried to get you up a few times, and you didn’t even notice. I actually was concerned that you were drugged for half a minute before I realized it was impossible.”

Shit. Yuuri groans, rolling away from him into Makkachin. Makkachin whines and snuggles up to Yuuri, tucking his snout under his chin and smiling. Yuuri strokes his belly. “Great so I just wrecked my sleep schedule.”

“I have something you can take, if you like,” Victor suggests. “I tend to get insomnia on the road.”

“Really?” Yuuri plays with Makkachin’s front paw, smiling at how cute his pads are. Makkachin lets him, not jerking it away like most dogs would. This was a line for Vicchan, and Yuuri appreciates the trust in the gesture. He boops Makkachin’s nose, and Makkachin’s expression turns offended for a second before relaxing.

“Sleeping away from home without Makkachin is too difficult,” Victor explains. “I get lonely, and it keeps me awake those nights.”

Yuuri pauses, because he always saw Victor surrounded by crowds---Yakov, his rinkmates, his competitors, his...partners---it never occurred to him that Victor could feel lonely. He remembers the two years in Detroit before Phichit, living in a solo dorm room at Wayne State and being afraid to make friends. “I never knew.”

“It’s not something I advertised,” Victor says. “But for a long time, after a point even at home...I was lonely.”

Yuuri’s heart hurts. He rolls over to face Victor, Makkachin grumbling at the loss of attention. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Victor says with soft tones. “Sometimes it wasn’t so bad. Some nights I didn’t feel that way, but the vast majority of the time...well. My apartment would feel too big for just us, is all.”

Some nights. Yuuri asks before he can consider if it’s tactful or not. “The nights where you had...a person to be with?”

Victor subtly starts, putting down the tablet. He turns to Yuuri with a mixture of thoughtfulness and surprise before something seems to click. “Ah yes,” he begins, “Victor Nikiforov, great lothario of the ice skating world who only leaves shattered hearts in his wake.”

His tone is silly and playful, and Yuuri gives him a weird look. Then he realizes what he means. “Wait. None of that is true?”

Victor hums with a weird sparkle in his eyes. “The reports of my exploits have been greatly exaggerated.”

Yuuri balks a bit. “Was I...am I your---” He tries to say the word _first_ and his throat freezes because he isn’t sure what answer he wants. 

Victor seems to understand. “No, but I haven’t had as many lovers as people think.”

“Oh,” Yuuri replies. “So the ice dancer throwing gin in your face---”

Victor snickers; it’s wholly unlike his normal full, boisterous laughter. “We had a terse conversation at the banquet, but nothing that dramatic. I actually love that rumor, it makes me sound like a romantic lead on a soap opera!”

He would, Yuuri thinks. “What about Chris?”

Victor smiles. “Chris is probably my closest friend. We’ve had some fun together, but we’ve both not read more into it. It was something that happened on a couple of occasions---sometimes we get coffee, sometimes we go out for drinks, and on two occasions we did what people do when they’re alone. Those nights were nice, but that’s all they were, we both knew it, and we’re still good friends.”

Yuuri nods. “That makes sense.”

Victor’s expression shifts, his eyes lighting with curiosity. “You know,” he says. “I tried to ask this question of you a few times. You always gave me non-answers.”

Unable to meet his gaze, Yuuri looks at Makkachin, who has dozed off. He rubs his ears anyways, Makkachin snuffling in his sleep and shifting into more of a ball. “I don’t have anything to say,” Yuuri mumbles with a low voice.

“How so?” Victor asks. It’s not teasing or condescending---he genuinely wants to know.

Yuuri makes a small disgruntled sound. “You’re it.”

He doesn’t look at Victor’s face, but he hears him sit up, the sound of the covers rustling giving it away. “Really? You never even kissed anyone?”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri says. “That I’d done. And I was informed a few times after the fact that I had been on some dates.”

There’s a pause. Then Victor clears his throat. “After the fact?”

Yuuri shrugs. “Phichit would arrange for us to go the movies with a third person and not show at the last minute. Then when I’d get home he’d bug me about stuff like making out during the boring parts. I’d ask him why that would have happened, and it was like I poisoned Johnny.”

“Who is Johnny?” Victor asks kind of to himself.

“His favorite hamster, he’s named after Johnny Weir,” Yuuri explains.

“Oh,” Victor says. “Yuuri...you know that’s the oldest trick in the book, right?”

“Hm?” Yuuri hazards a look then; Victor’s eyes are full of affection and amusement. His lips twitch occasionally, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, Mila and I did that to Georgi with Anya,” Victor says. “He was too scared to make a move, so we set them up like that. It works usually. We already decided that when the time comes for Yurio we’ll be making similar plans.”

“I actually thought this was just Phichit’s hidden dark side,” Yuuri says. “Also I don’t know, they never seemed like they liked me so it never occurred to me they’d consider it a date.”

“Like girls who talk to you a lot and give you hugs in hospital waiting rooms don’t?” Victor asks.

Yuuri freezes. “Oh.”

When Victor speaks again, his voice is full with a little wonder. “Did you also...when I first arrived...were you unaware as well?”

Yuuri swallows. “Oh. I thought...I thought you just get touchy with people. I didn’t think that stuff actually meant anything. And I mean...I idolized you for most of my life. It was intimidating being so close.”

Victor’s arms wrap around Yuuri, and he pulls him as much as he can onto his lap with a snoozing poodle between his legs. Makkachin opens one eye and boofs, shifting to make room for Yuuri so they can both snuggle Victor. Makkachin thumps his tail a couple of times while looking at Yuuri, briefly smiling at him before settling back to sleep. 

Victor watches his dog make all of these moves. “You’re his favorite, you know.”

“Favorite what?” Yuuri asks, adjusting how he sits so his chin rests on Victor’s shoulder.

“Human,” Victor answers. “You’re his favorite human.”

“No you,” Yuuri counters. It’s half-hearted because Makkachin liking him best fills him with warmth. He’d thought when Victor first came that having Makkachin around would cause him too much pain, but instead he brings him joy. He doesn’t fill the hole Vicchan left, but Yuuri hadn’t realized how much not having a dog dulled his world until Makkachin moved in.

“I am Makkachin’s papa, don’t misunderstand,” Victor says. “But he loves you just a tiny bit more than me. It doesn’t offend me, since his taste is exquisite.”

Yuuri hums a second. “I guess.” 

Secretly, he’s delighted.

“You don’t have to be so pleased,” Victor retorts with a squeeze of Yuuri’s waist.

Maybe not quite _secretly_. “It makes me happy. My dog died during the Grand Prix Final last year.”

Victor makes a sad sound. “Is that why you fell apart?”

A few months ago, Yuuri would have winced. Now, he simply nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh _lapochka_ ,” Victor says, his hands running down Yuuri’s back in soothing strokes. “I’m so sorry. If anything happened to Makkachin, I’d be devastated.”

Yuuri knows. Victor’s had Makkachin for the majority of his life. The poodle is old but seems hale and hardy, so Yuuri hopes there’s still plenty of time for them. One of Victor’s hands drop from Yuuri into Makkachin’s fur, and Yuuri holds Victor tight. They sit in comfortable silence for a long time.

“Would you like that pill?” Victor asks. “It’s getting late, and you may not get up on time to practice if you don’t sleep soon.”

Yuuri grumbles, the noise rumbling through Victor’s body. 

Victor chuckles. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a ‘don’t want to, but probably should’,” Yuuri explains. He sighs, shifting his weight. He’s not tired at all, and he likes being awake with Victor better than sleeping, and he just spent most of a day sleeping instead of being awake with Victor. 

This situation is for the birds.

Victor hands him the pill bottle, which Yuuri absolutely cannot read because, of course, Cyrillic. The pills are round and kind of big, and Yuuri hesitates when he puts one in his hand. Victor senses his concern, separating from him and leaving his room, the door staying propped open. He returns after two minutes with a bottle of Yuuri’s favorite flavor of Calpico.

Yuuri twists open the cap, puts the pill on his tongue, and chases it with a long sip of the drink. He swallows, grimacing at the chalkiness of the drug. “Blech.”

Victor laughs. “Yeah, they’re not fun.”

Yuuri drinks more Calpico. Then he offers the open bottle to Victor, who takes a long swig. Victor prefers the plain variety, but he doesn’t mind the Lychee flavor. He spit out the Peach, though, saying it was cloying. Yuuri couldn’t react to it with anything but laughter, it was so melodramatic. Victor had said his laugh was his new favorite sound, and they’d ended up making out on the bench in front of Hasetsu Castle while the leaves fell around them. 

Victor changes into a pair of loose and faded black pants with no shirt, and Yuuri takes his t-shirt off too. They climb under the covers, Makkachin lying parallel to them since as close as they’re cuddled up, they only take up half the bed. Victor turns off the lamp, kisses the crown of Yuuri’s head, and settles down.

The drug works quicker than Yuuri anticipated, and as he gets dragged under, Victor whispers, “ _Ya tebya lyublyu_.”

Yuuri’s forgotten it when he wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor said "I love you."
> 
> Also, I am horribly remiss but as a birthday gift my dear spooky wrote [Chris's Free Program to "Dirrty"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10733301). It is comedy gold. Please read it and show her some love.


	6. Beijing 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The travel to, arrival in, and first day of competition for the Cup of China.
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/36791385924/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last my long national nightmare is over because there's a lot going on here.
> 
> From here on out, when dealing with the Grand Prix Final competitions, the chapters will be split into two (possibly three for Barcelona, wait no definitely three because of the EPIC REVEAL EPISODE) parts because so many people and things and interactions and contests that have to happen.
> 
> Part of why this took a while is the necessary epiphany I had to have for Victor's backstory. I think it's a little different for him than anything else I usually see, and I don't know, I like the idea of what I have here.
> 
> I think we all know what arigatou means (thank you, if you're not sure) and we might know from the first couple episodes what koibito means (it's actually lover, not girlfriend just in case) but there we go. Also "ohayo" is a casual morning greeting. When you say itadakimasu before eating, it's like expressing gratitude for the meal you're about to consume. 
> 
> Baiju is basically the Chinese equivalent of vodka. It will ruin your day.
> 
> Onigiri are rice balls stuffed with things like salted salmon or mayonnaise and tuna. They're usually sold at konbini but they're fairly easy to make. Ochazuke is a rice dish where the rice is cooked in a tea broth. Yuuri thinks about getting Kit-Kats because they are a big thing in Japan to the point where each region has its own special flavors and there are seasonal varieties like sakura for that time of year. The ones Yuuri could get in Hasetsu are different from what's available in Tokyo, hence his idea to possibly pick some up as a treat.
> 
> I realize that likely some of you are unaware of her, but in the lead up to the US Nationals in 1993, Tonya Harding's husband paid someone to club Nancy Kerrigan, her rival, in the knee to prevent her from competing there and from making the US Olympic team for Lillehammer. It worked and Harding won Nationals, but it didn't injure Kerrigan enough to bench her for the rest of the season. Fast forward to the 1994 Winter Olympics, and Kerrigan recovers, takes silver in Lillehammer, and there is a giant investigation after where it's revealed Harding knew the whole time about the assault though when it happened she said she was clueless. She was not only stripped of her Nationals title and fined six figures, but she was barred for life from competing OR coaching for the United States figure skating association. So keep in mind what Victor's implying career-wise when Yuuri contemplates doing something worse than telling a few lies towards the end of this chapter.
> 
> Figure skating is serious shit, y'all.
> 
> Also "I once got busy in a Beijing sports arena bathroom" just doesn't have the same ring to it as "Burger King bathroom." I have failed you, Digital Underground.
> 
> Phichit will be the best friend you have in your life, but he also is the literal worst.

The first leg of the journey to Beijing is a short jaunt to Tokyo, barely hitting cruising altitude before the plane descends. Victor listens to a Russian podcast on his phone while Yuuri plays Sailor Moon Drops, muttering in Japanese when he runs out of moves on a level before he can complete it. He managed to get Witch Michiru, but Vampire Haruka is proving elusive, and if he doesn’t get the matched set he’ll be annoyed every time he opens the app. Victor has a coffee while Yuuri drinks some juice, and Victor makes a big show of stretching when they land at Narita that Yuuri knows is him being extra about riding in Coach.

They have two and a half hours before the long leg, so they go to a restaurant and eat breakfast. Victor and Yuuri idly chat while people watching, Yuuri reading some current happenings in the world aloud to Victor for his commentary.

Victor sips tea as Yuuri munches on his _ochazuke_. It’s really quite good, especially by airport food standards. Victor gave his typical “ _Vkusno_ ” with his first bite, but this was after he and Yuuri both bowed their heads and said, “ _Itadakimasu_!”

It pleases Yuuri greatly that Victor has assimilated so well, though of course he doesn’t let it show. There is a secret smile Yuuri wears when Victor’s attention is elsewhere sometimes is all. Victor's none the wiser.

Victor looks at something on his phone with a wistful expression. “What’s up?” Yuuri asks between bites. Victor eats more slowly since he keeps staring at his phone.

“Makkachin,” Victor says. “This is the first time we’ve been apart like this in a while. I know he’s okay since he has your family, but still it’s the first time I’ve left him for such a long trip since coming to Hasetsu.”

Yuuri remembers getting impatient when Victor said goodbye earlier, and he feels a small wave of guilt. “Right.”

Victor puts his phone face-down on the table. He smiles. “It’ll be alright. He’s great, and your family cares for him well.”

“They love him,” Yuuri says. Then he blurts out, “They love you both.” His face reddens, and he coughs, looking the other way.

Victor’s eyes are fairly wide before his expression becomes satisfied. His smile and posture remind Yuuri of a peacock. He’s practically preening. “Well, I love them too.”

Yuuri can’t even muster up the ability to be bothered by his visible pride. He’s too happy, though he suspected as much for a while. He knows that Victor spends most of his time at Yu-Topia while he’s dancing at Minako’s or running, and that means Victor spends a decent amount of his days talking with his parents and Mari. He wonders what they discuss, but when he’s come home and witnessed the tail end everyone’s voices were warm and full of affection.

Victor concentrates on his food, the two of them eating in silence. Then he gets his heart-shaped smile. “My mother adores you.”

Yuuri chokes for multiple reasons, the main one being how could his mother even know anything of him, but also important is that in all the months they’ve been inseparable, Victor’s never once mentioned his family. “Your mother?”

“Yes, I talk about you a lot,” Victor says. “She’s quite pleased.”

Yuuri remembers all the times he’s inadvertently eavesdropped on Victor’s phone conversations in his native tongue, where his voice is full of an affectionate burr for the other party and his face lights up when he sees the caller ID. He should have asked a long time ago who he speaks with, but he felt like it might be an invasion of privacy. “My skating.”

Victor gives Yuuri one of those soft, caring looks. “Among other things.”

Yuuri feels his face turn red. He can hear the intent behind the words, that Victor is bragging to his mother about him because of their romantic relationship more than their professional one, and he thinks his heart has bruised itself from thumping so hard against his ribcage. He thinks of how he still hasn’t technically told his mother what Victor really means to him, and he decides that when they return to Hasetsu, he will. “Oh. Well, that’s neat.”

“We don’t talk as much as I’d like,” Victor says. “It’s why I never ignore it when she calls. She and _Papen’ka_ are very busy, and so am I of course. We don't see each other much, but we talk when we can.”

“What do they do?” Yuuri asks, his food forgotten. Victor’s never really spoken of his family even in the press, unless he did it in the Russian magazines Yuuri could never read he bought on eBay as a high schooler. 

Well, he did that until Mom scrutinized the family credit card bill after seeing a few---a lot of---okay like, seventeen charges one month because sixteen year old Yuuri had poor impulse control and the Buy It Now button is evil.

“ _Papen’ka_ is a judge,” Victor explains. “He presides over the Constitutional Court of Russia. _Mamen’ka_ is a surgeon. She travels at least ten days of the month lecturing or treating people with rare cases that no one else can cure.”

A family of geniuses then. No wonder Victor is so amazing, Yuuri muses.

Victor leans close to Yuuri with a conspiratorial grin. “They often make fun of me, actually. It’s quite funny! In America they would say I’m the black sheep!”

Yuuri frowns, as he doesn’t see the humor because people he knew in Detroit got called that by their parents for fairly serious disagreements. “How so?” he asks, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end at the thought of someone insulting his Victor.

Victor grins. “For generations, the Nikiforovs have practiced law or medicine. And here I am, multiple-time world figure skating champion!” He starts laughing. “ _Papen’ka_ likes to ask me when I’ll be ready for him to help me with school applications, sometimes even suggesting he pull strings where he attended. They’re very supportive and would be even if I wasn’t as succesful as I am, but they can’t help the teasing. I may as well be a hippie in their eyes.”

Yuuri tries to imagine his lover, who buys Chanel lip balm and whose wardrobe is likely worth the GDP of a developing nation, being a hippie. Understandably, he can't. “Sure.”

Victor gives him a funny look. “That’s an odd reply.”

“I tried to imagine you singing ‘Give Peace a Chance’ in bell bottoms, and it's not happening,” Yuuri answers. “I had to take a history class at uni, and the one I ended up choosing was US History after 1820 because I figured I should learn about where I lived. So I know about their hippies and...well...you couldn’t be further if you tried.”

Shaking his head a few times, Victor resumes eating his rice. “I came here to coach you and have a good time, and I feel so attacked right now.”

“I wouldn’t be a good one, either,” Yuuri replies. “I care too much about avoiding jail. And a lot of them got gassed or shot, and I’m not comfortable with those either.”

“I would also prefer you unharmed,” Victor says with affection. “You’d look good with long hair, though.”

Yuuri pauses. “Wait...really?”

Victor looks at him with a coy smile. “Yes, I’ve imagined it once or twice. It’d make you look like a romantic hero, perhaps even Byronic. It’s a good fantasy.”

Yuuri rubs the nape of his neck, feeling the hairs back there. They're already long for his standards, as he just realized he’s somewhat overdue for a haircut. “Then maybe I’ll grow it out,” Yuuri says. 

Victor’s eyes widen. He flails a little with a sheepish expression. “Oh, _lapochka_ , I wasn’t telling you what to do---”

“No, you weren’t,” Yuuri agrees to reassure him. “But still, I’ve never done it or even given it thought. It might be a good look, and it’s not like I can’t cut it if I hate it. So why not?”

It’s worth a shot for a few months, and if it makes Victor find him more desirable, then they both come out of this winners. Especially since Yuuri already likes having his hair pulled during sex.

Though he wonders what he’ll do about his hair when he competes once it’s too long to slick back. Victor wore ponytails a lot, sometimes fishtail braids on other occasions. Yurio always keeps his in face, which would drive Yuuri insane since he can’t imagine it’s easy to see where you’re at in the rink with one eye covered. Sara Crispino, who is kind of a friend of Yuuri’s, always puts hers up with a million pins in severe buns.

Yuuri contemplates that because Sara has really good hair, and he wonders if his will be half as sleek and pretty. Maybe she can give him some pointers on caring for it.

Victor shoots him an inquiring look with his mouth quirked up on one side. “What are you thinking about?” he asks. “You look far away.”

“Sara Crispino,” Yuuri answers. “I was wondering if maybe when my hair gets long I could ask what shampoo she uses or for product recommendations. She has nice hair.”

Victor’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “Her hair? That’s what you’ve noticed about her? And only so can you can share products and tips?”

Yuuri clears his throat. He thinks about her face, and how both she and her brother have an eye color he’s never seen on anyone else except this classic film actress named Elizabeth Taylor. “Well...her eyes are nice, I guess.”

Victor’s expression grows more amused, his mouth becoming a wide smile. “You’re just not even remotely into girls, are you? Even I stare at her sometimes, she’s stunning.” The words are not cruel or even laced with friendly teasing, they’re full of affection and care. He’s asking, he’s not picking.

“I liked a girl for years,” Yuuri answers as he takes a sip of his drink.

“ _A_ girl, singular,” Victor points out with a combination of glee and curiosity.

“Yeah,” Yuuri answers. “She’s always loved someone else, though. I almost told her when I came back to Hasetsu in March just for closure, but the moment was spoiled. And you know...in a way I think maybe I liked the idea of liking someone more than I liked her for who she is. We’re longtime friends, she’s cute, and we have a lot of similar interests. I think it was convenient to have a crush on her in a way it wouldn’t have been with someone else.”

Something stirs in Victor’s expression. “You were sweet on Yuuko Nishigori.”

Yuuri bites his bottom lip while he gives an awkward smile. He nods.

“She's very pretty and good-hearted. I like her a great deal,” Victor says. “I can see it.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri answers with a fond expression. “I came home and was about to tell her when the triplets interrupted. I figured that was a sign to leave it, and I never told her. And then…” Yuuri trails off with a smile.

“And then?” Victor asks.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. It requires a lot of his strength, but he makes eye contact. “You.”

Victor’s eyes light up, and they’re as bright as a cloudless summer sky. Yuuri softens even more as the two of them gaze at each other across the table. Victor finally clears his throat and looks down at his rice, his cheeks uncharacteristically pink. 

Yuuri marvels that he managed to fluster Victor for once instead of the other way around. It’s a pretty great feeling, and he contemplates getting some of the Tokyo-only flavors of Kit-Kats as a celebration.

Preliminary boarding is called for their flight, and Victor pays the check while Yuuri gathers their carryon items. They walk to their gate and board with their group, Yuuri requesting a blanket and pillows once they're seated. He has a neck pillow that is well-loved and worn-in, but he likes having the regular ones, too. 

After he fastens his seatbelt, he gets tapped on the shoulder. Yuuri turns to Victor, who pulls his hygiene mask down and plants a long kiss on his lips. Yuuri’s eyes widen for a moment before he kisses back. Victor breaks the kiss. “I wanted to do that back there, but thought it might be inappropriate since it was so public.”

Yuuri blinks at him. Then he shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Victor covers them both with the blanket and leans against Yuuri, resting his head partially on him. Yuuri turns slightly sideways and rests against the window. The safety instructions are given, the flight takes off, and they fall asleep between the runway and cruising altitude.

_\-----_

Yuuri and Victor sleep the vast majority of the plane ride to Beijing Capital, and customs is as an enjoyable experience as ever. Of course the second they get outside the airport to hail a taxi, Yuuri is grateful for the mask on his face while Victor coughs discreetly since they arrived on a bad air quality day.

The cab gets them to their hotel in a short amount of time, Victor tipping the driver and thanking him in decent-but-accented Mandarin. A bellhop swarms them because as Yuuri had to bring his skates, other equipment, and costumes for the competition and exhibition programs, they have three suitcases and a duffle between them. 

Victor checks them in still wearing his Alexander McQueen sunglasses, and the desk gives the bellhop their room number. Victor lays on the charm, getting the keys, and they ride the elevator together in comfortable and slightly tired silence. All of the other skaters should be in this hotel as well, and Yuuri only then thinks to turn his phone on to see if Phichit has arrived.

Victor opens their door, Yuuri brushing past him. Yuuri is normally very careful with his things, but this time he drops his beanie, coat, scarf, and cardigan on the floor like a trail leading through the room. He manages to kick off his trainers without untying them and drops onto the bed closest to the window like a dying fish.

He can hear Victor in the en suite washing up, probably his face. Victor moisturized on the flight, which Yuuri thought was a bit much, but he didn’t complain or question. Victor’s physical appearance can be a touchy subject, as Yuuri found when he poked his scalp that one time. If his question comes out wrong, Yuuri could imply (on _accident_ ) Victor looks old which---and this actually isn’t histronic---might get Yuuri dumped. 

It’ll at the least cause him to sleep on the proverbial couch for a night or two. 

Victor comes out of the bathroom with these wet-looking paper things stuck under his eyes and his bangs pinned out of his face. Yuuri raises an eyebrow before opening his text messages. There’s two from Phichit, and they’re fairly recent.

_Save me from Ciao Ciao’s shrill yelling about getting to the airport on time._

_HE DID IT AGAIN. He kept poking me that we were late and now we have SO MUCH TIME ugh. I hate when he does this, I could have had so many more snuggles with my babies._

Yuuri knows that all too well. He borderline panicked on the way from his apartment to Detroit Metro for Sochi only for Celestino to have gotten them there with almost four hours to kill. If Yuuri hadn’t been mostly asleep he might have murdered him. After Celestino got him a coffee and he was more coherent, he almost did. They were at an airport, he could have made it look like a mugging gone wrong. No one would know.

Yuuri texts Phichit back. _Too bad you’re too young to drink there, you could get him to calm down by sharing a beer or something._

_Please, you know if I even mention beer before a competition it’ll kick off the Carb Lecture with slides._

Oh God, the _Carb Lecture_. That thing is miserable. Yuuri would rather sit through the talk the Olympics committee gives the teams about how “proper conduct must be adhered to 24/7 but just in case here’s eight thousand free condoms” than that mess ever again.

_Yeah good point. No need to start the trip with torture._

_Hey did you still want to meet up the day after the Exhibition and banquet? I’m trying to plan because Leo and Guang-Hong said something about sightseeing._

Oh right, they’re coming too. Yuuri doesn’t know them as well as Phichit, but they’re nice and have good senses of humor. _Yeah, we can do dinner so you can have the day to hang out with them. Victor I think is going to catch up with Chris so it’ll just be us._

_The hotel does dim sum I saw, do you want to just do that? I could definitely go for eating my weight in dumplings._

_Oh God, yes, it’s on._

Yuuri rolls onto his stomach, setting his phone on the nightstand between the beds. Victor decided to book a double to keep up appearances just in case of their room number getting leaked to the press. Yuuri sets his glasses on his phone, grabs the comforter, and turns into a Yuuri-burrito (Yuurito?) in the middle of the bed.

The water runs for the second time. Victor comes out in a cashmere v-neck t-shirt he’s prone to wearing now that it’s cooler and his jeans. He sits on the edge of the bed chosen by the Yuurito. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri emerges enough to expose his hair (which is probably horrifying) and his right eye. “Hi.”

“You want to sleep, don’t you?” Victor asks with a smile. Yuuri squints at him; from what he can tell, Victor’s skin actually does look healthier than it did on the plane. Huh. Maybe he should try his regiment. 

Yuuri ponders for a moment. Normally he’s about to lapse into a coma at this point in a long trip, but for once he feels fairly energized. He could probably stand to eat since he slept through the meal service on the flight, but he doesn’t want to leave his nest. Yuuri sits up, the covers a haphazard pile around him. “No. Let’s order food.”

Victor nods, reaching into the nightstand and grabbing the menus. He finds the English one, and he sits next to Yuuri so they can look at it together. Yuuri selects the beef rendang, while Victor goes for the longxu noodles. Victor orders them sparkling waters as well, and then he sits back in silence. 

Yuuri looks at him, blurred around the edges like a halo of light surrounds him, and he mutters in irritated Japanese. 

Victor raises an eyebrow. “Something I did?”

“I hate not being able to see you clearly,” Yuuri complains without giving himself enough time to realize what he’s done and become anxious as a result. “I’m thinking about contacts for the first time in my life because I can’t see your face the way I want in certain circumstances.”

Victor grabs Yuuri’s glasses from the table and puts them on. His eyes widen for a second and go unfocused before he blinks rapidly. “Wow! How do you skate without these?”

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s habit at this point. I’d rather not shatter them when I fall. They’re not cheap, you know.”

Victor gives Yuuri a smile with the blue frames perched on the bridge of his nose. “Am I cute?”

Yuuri squints---it helps sharpen Victor, giving him back some definition. He smiles, because he is, of course he is, when is Victor not perfect? If Victor’s vision ever degrades, he’ll look good in a pair of his own. “Yes.”

Victor takes them off and hands them to Yuuri, who puts them on. Everything is clear now, Yuuri being able to notice the variance in the shades of blue in Victor’s eyes, flecks of sea and sky mingling into his one-of-a-kind irises. Yuuri wonders if Victor’s eyes come from his mother or his father. There’s so little he knows still, and yet he’s learned so much so fast.

Victor stares back at Yuuri with his eyebrows furrowed. Before he can ask, there’s a knock at the door. Victor grabs Yuuri’s hand, kissing the inside of his wrist at the pulse point and answers the call of their meal. He tips the gentleman and thanks him in Mandarin and English, and he and Yuuri prop themselves up to eat.

The food is delicious, Yuuri humming happily with each bite.

Victor sips his sparkling water. “How tired are you?”

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s only an hour difference so I probably won’t feel anything at all. I’ll sleep hard tonight, though.”

Victor lights up like Yuuri gave a winning answer in the final round of a contest. “Perfect. When I competed, I got assigned three places more than any other: Paris, Moscow, and here in Beijing. I’ve been here so often I have a favorite restaurant. If it’s not too presumptuous I made us a reservation, and I’d like to take you there tonight. I was thinking since tomorrow is your public practice and press, we’d do something more relaxed like hot pot, but for tonight...well...tonight, I’d like it to be ours.”

Yuuri looks down at his food, trying to hide his smile. He can’t ever let it be that easy for Victor. It’s like his mission in life: win the Grand Prix Final, support his family’s business, pick on Victor when he’s openly romantic. “I don’t know. I thought maybe we’d stay in, watch a movie, go to sleep at a reasonable hour…”

Victor snorts. “I can tell when you’re messing with me.”

Yuuri gives him a sideways look. “You know I’m not going to refuse.”

“It’s still not okay to assume that you’re agreeable,” Victor says. “I’d rather not take you for granted, _lapochka_.”

Instead of answering, Yuuri hands Victor a bite of his beef with his chopsticks. Victor eats it with a pleased expression, then returns the favor with one of his shrimp. Yuuri turns back to the bowl in his hands. “I’m glad I packed something more than jeans and my banquet suit.”

“I’ve hardly seen you in anything but jeans or your practice clothing,” Victor muses.

Yuuri shrugs. “Phichit says I clean up nice. Last time, he cat-called me for ten minutes in three languages. Somehow the only Japanese words he’s picked up are vulgarities.”

Victor gets lost in thought. “Yuuri...Phichit means a lot to you, right?”

“Yeah, he’s---” Yuuri pauses. “In some ways, I think Phichit’s the only skater I can really call a friend.”

Victor mulls this information over. “And how does Phichit feel about you?”

“Generally I think he’s exasperated, to be honest,” Yuuri answers. “But he’s never failed to have my back.”

“That’s not---” Victor sighs. “I mean...I know you said he tries to play matchmaker. Is that because he has feelings for you?”

Yuuri stares at Victor before bursting out laughing. He laughs so hard he cries, and Victor has no idea what to say in response, which is rare. When Yuuri calms down, he shakes his head. “No. No, I am _definitely_ not Phichit’s type.”

Victor doesn’t look relieved so much as he’s had some curiosity sated. 

Yuuri snickers. “ _Jason Momoa_ is his type.”

Victor’s eyes widen. Then he smiles, shaking his head. “Funny.”

“Phichit’s my closest friend, and he enjoys paying me compliments,” Yuuri says. “But there is a negative possibility he finds me attractive. He knows me too well. It’d be like dating Mari.”

Victor sets his empty dish on the floor. He puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I wasn’t angry, I was curious. Though, I would fight for you.”

Yuuri feels a mixture of annoyance and pleasure. “Oh, you would?”

“Yes, I would gladly duel him for your hand,” Victor continues, his voice full to the brim of boasting. “I’d joust him on a perfect white horse at sunset or use pistols at dawn if it’s his preference.”

The annoyance has won. He’s so dramatic. “Why are you like this?”

“Love makes people courageous, Yuuri,” Victor says with his nose in the air and his tone haughty.

“More like it makes people fools,” Yuuri counters.

“But I’m _your_ fool,” Victor says.

Yuuri puts his bowl out of the way and wraps his arms around Victor’s neck. For now, he thinks. For now, he’s Yuuri’s fool. “Yeah.”

Victor smiles and looks at him like he’s the only person he’s ever seen. He plants a quick kiss on Yuuri’s lips before leaving their embrace. “I’m going to shower, I think I smell like the plane still. Care to join me?”

“When did you want to go out?” Yuuri asks, checking the time on his phone.

“Reservation’s for eight,” Victor answers. He stretches, the lines of his body shifting with the grace of a jungle cat. 

It’s five. Yuuri stands, and heads to the bathroom. After a minute he pokes his head around the door. “You coming?”

Victor laughs, his eyes filling with a wicked gleam, and he runs to catch up. “Not yet, but soon,” he says, and Yuuri groans with a bright smile as they shut the door behind them.

_\-----_

The dinner is amazing, Yuuri suitably impressed that such flawless French food exists in Beijing. The restaurant was built inside of a temple, and when they get back to the room they fail to sleep at a reasonable hour.

Twice.

Yuuri’s public practice is set for the afternoon, so they ignore their alarms and doze later than normal for competition days. To Yuuri’s knowledge, Victor has no trouble sleeping like he’s mentioned before, but then Yuuri realizes while Makkachin may be at home, Victor isn’t in a too-big bed by himself and he warms when he thinks he might have helped ease his loneliness.

Yuuri puts on his black and blue pants and his dark blue long sleeved shirt. He decides to slick his hair back even though he typically saves that for his actual performances, and once he zips up his JSF mandated black and bright blue jacket, he and Victor head to the nearby rink for him to run through his programs and do some light interviews.

It looks like his practice is actually with the ice dancers and female solo seniors, Yuuri thinks as he warms up. He doesn’t see any of the other men’s senior soloists. It makes him laconic when Victor gives him instructions, since he’s the only person here he knows though he recognizes one girl as being in Georgi Popovich’s selfies. Still, that’s not enough of a reason for him to attempt being outgoing to strangers, and so he skates in a corner alone and nodding when Victor makes suggestions.

When time’s up, the juniors’ competitors and pair skaters replace Yuuri and his practice cohort. Yuuri, as has become typical, holds a hand on Victor’s shoulder as he covers his blades with his red and silver guards. They walk, hands brushing, back to the changing room, and Yuuri puts on the packed change of clothes under his JSF jacket, switching out the skates for his sponsorship-provided sneakers.

“You looked good,” Victor says to break the lull in conversation. “I feel good about this. You. It’s like every moment you get better.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says. The praise goes a long way to mitigating his nerves. Victor steers him into the main room, and Yuuri goes down a line of different journalists from various countries and publications. The repetition gets him through, as they all tend to ask the same questions. “I don’t consider this a comeback,” Yuuri says for the fifth time. “It’s more of a redemption. I knew I could do better last year in Sochi, and I’ll show it once and for all by winning this year.”

Victor stands close, his hand subtly pressed to the small of Yuuri’s back. He can’t quite feel it through the jacket, but he knows it’s there, and it helps him project an air of confidence. 

A reporter asks him a question that’s a little confusing, Yuuri at first wondering if it’s a mistranslation from his generally fluent English, but then he gets the point. “Uh, how do I define love...well…”

Victor sees someone walk past, and he brightens. “Yakov!” He pauses, bowing to Yuuri first and then the press. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Yuuri lets him go without an argument---he hasn’t seen Yakov since the sakura were in bloom, and they mean a lot to each other. Yuuri resumes answering questions to the last group, and as they thank him for his time, Victor returns with a frozen expression.

“Yakov doesn’t want to come with us,” he says. Then a smile forms, though Yuuri can tell it’s fake; the edges are too strained for it to be genuine. “More for us! Let’s go get our hot pot, _lapochka_.”

Yuuri lets Victor put his arm around his shoulders, steering him outside and downtown where the hot pot place Victor found on Yelp is. They’re seated at a quiet table alone towards the back, and Victor is silent in a way that isn’t typical as he looks at the menu. Their server takes their order---Victor goes a little nuts, choosing a lot of things, some of which Yuuri isn’t comfortable eating the night before he skates in case he ends up with food poisoning. 

Victor also orders a large bottle of an alcohol called baiju.

Yuuri rests his chin on his hand and watches Victor with as much stealth as he can get away with. There’s something not right in Victor’s movements and expression. He’s on the surface cheery, but Yuuri can sense there’s something underneath he’s attempting to hide.

The food arrives after Victor’s knocked back a few glasses of the baiju---he offered to share with Yuuri, but Yuuri won’t drink in the immediate lead up to a competition so he isn’t hungover or sick. He refuses the drunken shrimp and sticks primarily to the meat from the hot pot itself.

“Do you feel good?” Victor asks. It’s the first he’s spoken in a while.

“I think I ran my mouth too much,” Yuuri answers with a sigh. “If I don’t win now, I’ll look like an idiot.”

Victor’s about to counter when a familiar voice cries out, “Yuuri!” Both of them turn towards it, and Yuuri grins. Phichit is there in a backwards cap and a new jacket. Phichit pulls down his hygiene mask. “I’m so glad to run into you!”

“Hi!” Yuuri says. “Sit down. Join us.”

Victor’s eyes close as his mouth turns into his heart-shaped smile. “Hiiiii!”

Phichit gives him a little bow. “Hello. Phichit Chulanont. Pleased to meet you.”

Victor extends his hand. “Victor Nikiforov---I’ve heard a lot about you. You simply must join us.”

Phichit shakes his hand, and Yuuri sits next to Victor so Phichit can have the other bench to himself. He sighs, taking off his jacket and his hat. “Oh man,” Phichit begins. He rubs a hand down his face. “Ever since Ciao Ciao and I got in, we've been nonstop. And we haven’t even really started!”

Victor’s expression shifts into mild confusion. Yuuri nudges him. “Celestino.”

“Oh,” Victor says as he smiles. “Having spoken to him more than once, that nickname is perfect.”

“Right?” Phichit agrees with a grin. “The joke writes itself. Speaking of, I’m gonna text him and tell him to come meet us---”

Yuuri balks. “Uh, well, I mean he doesn’t have to---”

“Done!” Phichit puts his phone down. “He said he’ll be here in ten.”

Yuuri cringes. He’s not sure how to feel about his old coach having dinner with them, especially since he’s not sure what Celestino would think if he catches on to the less sports-related parts of their relationship.

Victor pours more baiju. “Would you like some?” He offers the bottle to Phichit. “Yuuri is abstaining.”

Phichit shakes his head. “Oh, no, not with a competition tomorrow, but thank you.”

“Phichit’s still too young to drink in the US,” Yuuri explains to Victor. “But sometimes...Canada happens.”

“Canada!” Phichit exclaims with a fist in the air like he’s just won a war. “So kind and polite, those Canadians. So nice to allow nineteen year olds to buy drinks. Their country is arguably full of bears, and everyone looks like lumberjacks! _Canada_!”

“Weirdly, Canada is always where Phichit and I got recognized,” Yuuri says.

“Right? It’s so odd. I guess because it’s JJ country.” Phichit sends a different person a text. “They love their winter sports, and since we skate against him, they probably pay attention since we are---” His voice drops. “ _The enemy._ ”

Victor’s face is a bit on the red side, and he looks a little happy. Perhaps too much so. “Who is JJ again? I know you told me once, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gives him a fond eye-roll. “Jean-Jacques Leroy, Victor. He won bronze in Sochi. Tall, black hair, his fans call themselves JJ Girls…”

“His girlfriend’s pretty hot,” Phichit supplies. “More importantly, she has excellent fashion sense.”

Victor still doesn’t look like he registers who JJ is, nor does he seem to particularly care. It’d be funny if it wasn’t counter to how Victor treats people normally. Yuuri wonders if they had some kind of dispute he isn’t privy to.

“Ciao Ciao!” calls a boisterous accent. The trio turn, and there is Celestio in all of his conditioner-commercial glory.

Phichit grins. “You made it!”

Celestino sits next to Phichit on the inside, and he smiles across the table at Victor and Yuuri. “Hi Yuuri. Victor, it’s always a pleasure.”

“Hi,” Yuuri says awkwardly. He tries to smile, but he knows it’s stilted.

Victor’s voice is a little too loud when he says, “Hi Celestino!” His movements are sloppy as he reaches out to shake Celestino’s hand. Celestino accepts it without comment. “Shrimp?” Victor offers.

“Oh, food like that doesn’t really agree with me,” Celestino says. “But thank you.”

Victor shrugs and nods, and the way his head jerks instead of smoothly bobbing up and down tells Yuuri that Victor’s well and truly drunk. Shit. Shit, how’d Yuuri let this happen? More importantly, how did _Victor_?

Celestino looks at the bottle of baiju, and he looks back at Victor. “May I partake?”

“Of course!” Victor says with a bright grin. He takes off his jacket, leaving him in short sleeves. His body shifts close to Yuuri, his hand resting on Yuuri’s thigh. He strokes the denim on Yuuri’s leg, and Yuuri clears his throat, putting his hand over Victor’s before he gets too fresh.

Phichit watches them for a second, and though he can’t see their hands, Yuuri can tell by the look in his eyes that he just _knows_. Phichit somehow always just _knows_ when it comes to him---he knows when to bring home a gallon of Moose Tracks, he knows when Yuuri needs to marathon Parks and Rec, and he knows when to walk with Yuuri to the convenience store for an emergency bag of Red Bulls.

Victor has learned most of those, to his credit, but it’s still a process. Well and Moose Tracks doesn’t exist in Japan, but the red bean mochi at the shop near the Ice Castle works as a consolation prize.

Phichit continues to watch Yuuri and Victor’s interplay, eyes mostly focusing on Victor’s expression. It’s fairly amorous for being in public, Yuuri realizes, but since he’s drunk that’s probably a contributing factor. Victor’s arm slings around Yuuri, and he pulls him close. Yuuri’s cheeks flush, his glasses going askew, and he pats Victor’s chest twice.

Phichit’s eyes narrow a little before something in his face clears. Then he picks up his phone and snaps a picture. Yuuri sputters. “Phichit!”

“At least let us pose,” Victor adds as he has more to drink.

Phichit grins. “I like him! Well done, Yuuri!”

Sputtering more, Yuuri adjusts his glasses and gives Phichit a look. Celestino looks at all three of them in turn before he asks Victor how he feels about coaching instead of competing. Yuuri tunes it out, but he hears his name a few times and the warmth in Victor’s voice. 

He’s tuned it out because he’s too busy kicking Phichit’s shin.

“Owwwwwww you’re so mean sometimes, Yuuri,” Phichit complains.

Yuuri doesn’t say anything but he looks at Victor, then he looks even harder at Celestino, then he glares at Phichit for a while. Phichit nods with understanding and holds up his hands in surrender. Celestino and Victor’s voices get louder next to them, and Phichit takes a picture of them talking. It’s not an argument---it’s excitement over the next couple of days and pride in their skaters.

This continues for a while, and Celestino and Victor have both had more than they should in terms of alcohol. So much so that Celestino’s head drops to the table, Phichit both taking pictures and panicking. Victor’s shirt has disappeared and now he’s clinging to Yuuri. “Victor---”

“ _Lapochka_ ,” Victor purrs in his ear. “What if I get on my knees for you right now? Would you like that?”

 _Jesus_. “No, Victor, Phichit’s right here---”

“Awww,” Victor pouts. He’s keeping his voice down, thank goodness. “Then when we go home? You’ll let me then?”

Yuuri’s torn. On the one hand, yes. On the other hand, Victor’s _really_ wasted and something about it doesn’t seem right. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says instead of giving a definitive answer.

“Okay, Yuuri,” Victor slurs. 

Leo and Guang-Hong arrive then, the mystery of Phichit’s other texts resolving itself, and they say hi. Guang-Hong gives Victor a look that’s a cross between fanboying and apprehension. “Ah sorry,” Yuuri says. “Victor’s had too much to drink.”

Leo looks like he wants to comment, but he decides against it at the last moment. They both look a little shell-shocked, but Guang-Hong is barely out of juniors, and Leo’s never met Victor before. They probably haven’t ever been around a sight like this, and they certainly wouldn't expect it from a Living Legend.

Victor’s rambling about Yu-Topia and moving the party to a hot spring. “ _No_ Victor,” Yuuri commands.

Victor settles, momentarily nuzzling Yuuri for a moment in his ear the way he knows makes Yuuri’s knees weak. It does still work, much to Yuuri’s irritation, but Victor decides instead to take his pants off.

Oh _shit_. “Victor---”

“Yuuri,” Victor calls. He starts to pull down his briefs. Yuuri cries out, stands and grabs his hands.

“No, Victor,” Yuuri barks. “We’re in public still, we have a competition tomorrow...it’s your first major competition as a coach, remember? Remember how you want people to perceive you?” There’s a flash of something in Victor’s expression like an open wound, and he pushes it away to become silly drunk Victor once more. He wraps around Yuuri, his face buried in his neck, and Yuuri starts at first before patting his bare back a few times. “Do you want to go?” Yuuri whispers.

He can feel Victor’s smile in his shoulder. He nods a few times.

“Okay, well,” Yuuri says. “Let’s get your clothes on and pay, alright?”

“Okay,” Victor says. Leo hands Victor’s pants to Yuuri, and Victor clumsily puts them back on, only not falling to the floor because of Yuuri’s steadying hands. Yuuri drops down under the table and finds Victor’s shirt and jacket, and he helps him finish dressing. Phichit is trying to wrangle his coach in a similar manner, Leo draping one of Celestino’s arms over him to help Phichit support his weight. Yuuri leaves enough Yuan to cover the meal, plus a good amount extra for the inconvenience, and Guang-Hong apologizes to the staff on their way out in a flurry of Mandarin and bowing.

They’re all heading back to the same place, though there’s too many of them for one cab, so Phichit, Guang-Hong, Leo, and Celestino fill one. Phichit looks over his shoulder at Yuuri with a smile and a look at Victor. “Take care, okay?”

“You too,” Yuuri says as he tries to get Victor into the back of another. It only kind of works, Victor face-planting onto the seat with his ass in the air. Yuuri sits next to him and in the best Mandarin he can manage, he gives the destination to the driver. They take off, and Victor rights himself. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says. His expression is a mixture of things, not all of which Yuuri can name. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

The thing is while normally he would be, Yuuri isn’t. If it were anyone else Yuuri would be furious, but he’s known for hours something’s wrong to make him act this way, and maybe he’ll be mad in the morning, but for right now he’s concerned. “No, and let’s talk in the room.”

“Okay, Yuuri.” Victor falls over, pressing his head into Yuuri’s lap. He lies on his back so he can see Yuuri’s face. There’s a vulnerability in his expression Yuuri hasn’t seen before, and his face falls even further in response to Yuuri's expression. 

They pull up to the hotel, and Yuuri gives the driver the fare plus tip. He helps Victor out and up to their room. He one-handedly fishes the card out and unlocks the door, and he helps Victor to the bed. 

Yuuri’s never had to care for another person before, not like this anyhow, so he decides to mimic what Victor’s done for him. He copies Victor’s moves from the day of the press conference, sitting him up and taking off his shoes, then his socks, and finally his pants. He puts the jacket on the other bed and tucks Victor under the covers, leaving to get him a tall glass of water and some Tylenol for the morning. When he returns Victor lies on his side, his eyes not moving from staring straight.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, his voice like sandpaper. “I’m good, right? I’m a good coach? I take you seriously?”

Yuuri moves, changing into his pajamas. “Yeah. You’re a really good coach,” he says over his shoulder. The words are sincere, but there is also a bit of distance in his voice as he wanders back to the en suite to wash his face and brush his teeth. Yuuri sets his glasses on the counter for the night, and when he’s done, he returns to Victor. He dims the lights and climbs in on the other side of the bed.

Victor rolls into him, resting his head on Yuuri’s chest and breathing heavily a few times. Then he makes an odd sound. He talks in Russian for a while before saying, “I didn’t think he’d still be mad.”

“Who?” Yuuri asks.

“Yakov,” Victor answers with a dry chuckle. “He’s _so angry_ with me. I thought he’d be happy for us by now. I thought we could all move on and be happy.”

Yuuri doesn’t know Yakov---they’ve never spoken since it’s clear from the look in his eyes that Yakov thinks very little of him and his ability as a skater. “He’ll get over it. Just give it some more time,” Yuuri tries to assure Victor, though he doesn’t know if the words are truthful. He can’t tell if he actually is reassuring, either. He’s garbage at this, he’s self-aware enough to know.

Victor sighs. Something in him seems to lift, probably his spirits. “You’re right.” He lies on Yuuri’s chest so they’re face-to-face. “I don’t normally let things like this get to me. He’s just being Yakov.” Victor’s eyes glimmer in the darkness. “Yuuri,” he says. “You didn’t let me blow you at the restaurant. Can I blow you now?”

“I am never going to let you blow me with Phichit within a thousand feet of us, for the record,” Yuuri points out. He looks at Victor, who is still obviously very drunk. “I would normally say yes, but I think you need to rest and drink some water. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

Victor’s eyes brighten as he smiles. “Yuuri! You’re such a gentleman!” He gives Yuuri sloppy kisses all over his face. It’s the opposite of sexy---it’s like he’s turned into his dog.

“Oh my God, _stop_ ,” Yuuri complains with a laugh. He tries to push him away, but it only makes Victor cling more.

“I was a gentleman last year,” Victor says. “After the banquet in Sochi. And my _lapochka_ is a gentleman too!” More kisses, more squirming from Yuuri. “Oh, _lapochka_ , I love you _so much_.”

Yuuri goes still. His heart races, his mind whirls like an amusement park ride. Victor said he wants to stay with him, but he hasn’t said this. Not this, not these small words that tell such a large story. Then he remembers how drunk Victor is, and he deflates. He doesn’t mean it---it’s the alcohol talking. Everything goes still within him, and he gets a facial expression that’s a cross between sad and calm. “Let’s go to sleep,” he says.

Victor gives him some space, lying next to him instead of on top, and he smiles as he closes his eyes. Yuuri watches him for a few minutes, struggling with the pangs filling his chest. 

He manages to sleep, but it’s troubled and fitful.

_\-----_

Yuuri wakes up alone with a mostly empty glass on the table and the pills gone. He hears the shower running, and he rolls onto his side facing away from the bathroom to try and sleep some more. He’s cranky, moderately anxious, and excited all at once. 

It’s short program day, after all.

The water cuts off and a moment later Victor comes out in a big fluffy hotel-provided robe as he towels his hair dry. “ _Ohayo_ , Yuuri,” calls Victor with good cheer.

Yuuri grumbles a reply without turning to face him. 

“Aw,” Victor says. He hangs up the towel and lies behind Yuuri on top of the covers. “Thank you so much for last night,” Victor continues with gentleness. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I?”

“No,” Yuuri admits. He should have, but he didn’t. He still doesn’t look at him, though.

Victors nose brushes across his nape. His hand slides over the duvet to Yuuri’s hip. “Sometimes, I really believe you’re too good for me,” Victor says in a whisper like he’s thinking out loud.

Yuuri’s back loosens at his words. He wants to be mad at Victor for both being so wasted and for saying words he doesn’t mean, but instead he can’t help but melt. Maybe even though Yuuri loves Victor, what Victor’s willing to give instead can be enough. 

Especially since Yuuri knows once the Final is over, they’re probably going to move in different directions.

He tries hard not to think about that---he tries to do something he’s never been good at and take one day at a time. Victor makes him happy and doesn’t treat him like their time is running down, but Yuuri knows it is. He knows Victor knows, too, and he's doing the same.

“If you want to sleep more, there’s time,” Victor tells him. He spoons Yuuri, pressing their bodies as close as he can with the covers between them. “It’s earlier than we need to be awake. I just couldn’t sleep any longer, so I decided to get up instead of fighting it.”

Yuuri makes a noise that he hopes is taken as an affirmative. “Can you get under with me?”

Victor shifts and slides under behind him, resuming their positions from a moment before. He smells like hotel shampoo and himself, that fresh scent that’s just inherently Victor Yuuri adores. Yuuri considers asking him about what he said for a few minutes while Victor tightens their embrace. “You’re so good,” Victor says before Yuuri can talk. “I don’t understand how I could be so fortunate.”

Yuuri’s eyes soften. He covers Victor’s hands with his.

“I really---” Victor says. He starts over. “I honestly never knew I could feel this way. I had no idea I could have someone in my life who makes me want to be as good as they think I am. I never imagined that I could look at someone and just---”

Yuuri’s eyes fill with tears. His presses his lips together tight.

“ _Love_ them so damn much,” Victor finishes.

Oh. He means it. It wasn’t the alcohol. He opens his mouth or at least he gives it a valiant effort, but it’s like his brain’s forgotten the principles of how speech works, and he can’t respond the way he should.

So instead he turns around to face Victor, whose eyes are full of light and whose expression Yuuri now can understand, and he kisses him as much as he can, as loving as he can, for as long as he can. He sends a little prayer that Victor hears him anyways, that he understands without being told in three English words or one in Japanese since he can’t seem to even give him that.

An alarm goes off in the background, and Victor pulls away. His expression is kind and warm, and Yuuri thinks he understood. “You should shower,” Victor says.

“I should,” Yuuri agrees. He makes zero effort to get up.

Victor strokes his hair. He smiles, and Yuuri’s heart sings. “Now?”

“Two minutes,” Yuuri replies. He wants to be here in this moment for a little longer. Just a little longer, a few minutes more so he’ll never forget, so he’ll always have it to look back on and smile, the knowledge that for right now Victor Nikiforov loves him.

The time runs out, and Yuuri kisses Victor again before getting out of bed and showering. He puts on sweatpants and his Wayne State t-shirt under his JSF jacket. He slicks back his hair, pockets his glasses, and as Victor grabs his bag with his skates, Yuuri grabs the garment bag with the Eros costume. Victor makes sure he has his keys and other sundries, Yuuri pocketing his phone, and they head to the arena.

They use the back entrance, where handlers give them security badges, show them to the dressing room, and bark directions Yuuri probably won’t recall in a few minutes. Victor helps him dress, though of course he can’t resist some lingering touches and smoldering looks in the process. Yuuri zips the jacket back up over the leather-look spandex and mesh, and they head back to the green room. 

Most of the skaters in his category are already there, though Chris seems to be absent. Victor takes Yuuri’s badge and wears it with his own like some kind of figure skating equivalent of Yuuri having a high school letterman’s jacket he gave to Victor his cheerleader girlfriend, and Yuuri tries to hide the proud smile every time it catches his eye. 

Phichit, Leo, and Guang-Hong are chatting, and Yuuri decides to check his Instagram feed to kill time. He gets to a certain point where he sees Phichit posted a picture of nearly-naked Victor glomping him while Phichit has a scandalized face in the foreground. His face goes white. “Phichit!”

Phichit glances at him with a question in his eyes before he sees Yuuri holding his phone. His expression becomes apologetic. “Oh. Sorry. I just---I couldn’t help it!”

Leo and Guang-Hong grumble something about their willpower being stronger, but all Yuuri can process is that now in addition to having to show up because of the comments he made in the interviews the day before, he has to show up so people don’t think he dicked around too much and didn’t take this seriously. Great. Fabulous.

He’s put his phone back in his pocket with a hand cups his ass. Yuuri’s back stiffens and he gasps. “Yuuri, you didn’t invite me?” comes a familiar, smokey voice.

“Chris!” Yuuri exclaims. The groping makes sense. The entire world makes sense. Yuuri relaxes and favors him with a bright, open smile. “Sorry. It wasn’t a deliberate snub.”

“I’m just teasing you,” Chris replies. His hand drifts from Yuuri’s ass to his hip, the two of them staying pressed fairly close. “You look good, Yuuri. Guess your master is giving you very...thorough training.”

Yuuri looks at Chris with a raised eyebrow, because he’s not certain what knowledge he has about him and Victor. “He keeps me in shape,” Yuuri decides to answer, keeping his tone light and somewhat playful.

“I can tell,” Chris says, his voice low and deep, purring in Yuuri’s ear. 

Just as Chris opens his mouth to elaborate further, Victor says, “Hi Chris!” with a bright grin, though his eyes are focused on Chris’s hand resting below Yuuri’s waist. 

Chris leaves Yuuri’s personal space. His eyes are drawn to the badges on clipped to the lanyards around Victor’s neck. He picks up Yuuri’s to closer examine it. “You know I can’t get serious without you, Victor.”

Victor shrugs. “You’re always slow to start.”

Another voice pops up, and Yuuri sees Chris’s coach. “No, it’s true. He’s just not as motivated. You should come back to the fold.”

Victor furrows his brows, but then two girls call out his name with smiles. Both of them wear Russia warm up jackets. Victor excuses himself from Chris, and Yuuri assumes the girls are former rink mates.

“You know, Yuuri,” Chris says as he slides back to him. “It’s a grave sin, keeping Victor all to yourself.”

Yuuri doesn’t look at Chris, as he’s staring at Victor’s interactions with the girls. They’re speaking in Russian, but Victor’s expression isn’t particularly warm or pleased. It’s a stiff smile like he’s trying to force himself to stay polite. The girls look at Yuuri for a second, their expressions cold and dismissive, and they say something else to Victor and start laughing.

Yuuri may not understand Russian but being insulted crosses barriers, needing no translation.

Chris’s whispers again. “People may never forgive you, you know.”

Yuuri swallows, giving Chris a glance out of his peripheral vision. His expression and tone of voice aren’t cruel, they’re still bordering on sensual, but it’s like all the fun gets sucked out of the room just the same.

Chris walks away, he and his coach grabbing bottles of water and conversing in Romansh. 

Yuuri cracks his knuckles on both hands. He cracks his neck, and he elects to start stretching. Victor comes to his side with visibe annoyance. It only lasts a moment before he brightens. “You’re last in Group One.”

Yuuri nods. He presses his forearms into the wall, drops his hips, and stretches his back. He can feel that Victor’s eyes are aimed too low on his body to pretend any kind of professionalism. 

He can’t be bothered to care, either.

So the world wants Victor back on the ice, but Victor’s not in love with the world. Victor’s in love with Yuuri, which means the world needs to suck it up and deal.

Phichit and Celestino head out, Phichit being first to perform.

Yuuri gives up on stretching, electing to jog back and forth, lightly so he doesn’t wear himself out. His mind swims. Everyone’s mad Victor’s his coach instead of a skater. 

Well, if they’re gonna be mad, he can give them good reason. He wants to make them so furious they choke on it, and he wants to send the message that Victor’s his, that Victor belongs to no one else, and that if they have a problem with it, they can go to hell.

He’s so obsessed with this train of thought he barely registers Victor leading him out to the rink and taking his jacket. Yuuri gets on the ice in his skates, and Victor stands on the other side. 

Victor’s eyes are full of faith and love. Yuuri rests a hand on the top of the board, and Victor in front of the world covers it with one of his. “The time for seducing as katsudon or a femme fatale is over,” Victor says. “You can seduce me with your own natural charms. You know this.”

His index finger caresses the back of Yuuri's hand sensuously.

Yuuri looks at their hands. He shifts so his fingers slide between Victor’s in a lover’s binding. He stands on his toes as much as he can in his skates, rests his forehead against Victor's, and says in a way where he almost can’t recognize his own voice, “Don’t _ever_ take your eyes off me.”

He lets go and skates to his starting mark. The announcement is made, the music starts, Yuuri finds Victor, looks him dead in the eye, and as he does his opening eye flourishes, he licks his lips in a wanton gesture of desire.

Yuuri skates like a man possessed, because he doesn’t care about anything except making it clear to the world that Victor’s his. He won’t share him. He’s the only one he loves, the only one who really satisfies him, he’s the only one Victor aches for.

He doesn’t even realize he nails the quad Salchow until the music stops, and he’s in the end pose. He’s exhausted and covered in sweat, his chest heaving with exertion. Flowers and stuffed animals are thrown all around him, and somehow in a crowd this size he can make out Minako’s cheers. 

Yuuri grabs a giant stuffed onigiri and leaves the ice, Victor meeting him at the Kiss and Cry. He helps him into his jacket as they await the scores. Victor practically vibrates, he’s so proud and excited, but Victor isn’t speaking in English---he’s babbling in Russian, and Yuuri can’t make heads or tails of his commentary.

Victor seems to realize what he’s doing. He stops and switches. “Yuuri!” He hugs him. “Did it feel good? To perform like that?”

Yuuri won’t look at him. He stares ahead in a daze. “I just wanted to make everyone watching feel good.” It’s a lie---he really wanted everyone to suffer, but he isn’t sure how to explain that in a way Victor will understand.

“Well,” Victor says as he drops his voice down low, his next words smooth like honey. “ _I_ definitely feel good.”

The score pops up on the screen before Yuuri can reply, and Victor cries out and applauds. Yuuri leans forward and squints.

He’s… _holy shit_. He’s broken 100! For the first time in his career, Yuuri’s broken 100! _Holy shit holy shit holy shit_. 

Yuuri’s ability to feel pretty much anything except utter disbelief has disappeared. He manages to not make an ass of himself with the press, and Victor escorts him away at the first opportunity. 

Though once Victor shuts the door, he realizes he has no clue where they are. He doesn’t get a chance to ask, because Victor’s on him like he’s dying and Yuuri is the only way he can breathe. Yuuri slams back-first into the door as Victor kisses the life out of him, his eyes saucer-wide and his voice making a loud noise of surprise into Victor’s mouth.

Victor’s unzipping the JSF jacket, sliding it down Yuuri’s arms and onto the floor. Yuuri’s come back to reality, and he returns the favor with Victor’s trenchcoat. He’s just skated the performance of his life, Victor declared his love a few hours ago---yeah, they’re doing this. They’re doing this, and he’s going to love _every second_.

Yuuri pulls off Victor’s gloves one at a time, and then gets to work on the suit jacket and waistcoat while Victor reaches behind him and unzips the costume. As fast as they’re moving, they’re careful to not rip anything, though it takes more willpower than Yuuri knew he has to not tear the shirt off Victor like he’s seen in movies.

Victor undoes and drops Yuuri’s dance belt around his ankles with the leggings of the costume, Yuuri undoing Victor’s fly and pulling the pants and briefs down in tandem. Victor kisses Yuuri again, sucks red patches on him below the collar of the costume, then says, “Turn around.”

Yuuri does, bracing against the door on his hands.

Yuuri hears a packet get torn open, and then there’s a slick finger between his cheeks. Just as Victor breeches him, Yuuri asks, “You planned this?”

Victor normally likes taking his time prepping Yuuri when he tops, but that's a luxury they don’t have today. “Hope springs eternal,” Victor says by way of response.

Yuuri snorts as Victor presses into his prostate. He groans, loud enough he knows if anyone’s walking by they hear every intonation. Victor adds a second finger, then a third, and Yuuri reaches a hand back, grabbing Victor’s thigh. “Obligatory reminder I have to be able to move freely tomorrow.”

Victor spits a Russian word that Yuuri’s pretty sure is _fuck_. “I’ll slow down,” Victor bites out with a grudging timber on the word _slow_.

“ _Arigatou, koibito,_ ” Yuuri responds breathily, trying to make it clear in his voice he regrets the necessity of the request.

Victor licks his nape, then presses a soft kiss there, and Yuuri knows everything’s fine. His fingers work slower and firmly---but not hard---and between the precariousness of their location and Victor not letting up on his prostate, Yuuri’s cock is a dripping, aching mess faster than usual. 

“You need to---” Yuuri starts, takes a steadying breath. When he speaks, his voice comes out like a general issuing his troops a command. “ _Now_ , Victor.”

He hears Victor inhale sharp as a tack. “As you wish, _lapochka_ ,” he replies. Another foil packet’s torn open, and a minute later, Victor’s cock replaces his fingers. Yuuri drops his head down into his chest with another loud groan as Victor thrusts out, then back in. Yuuri rests against a forearm instead of his palms to use his free hand to jerk off.

Victor’s leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on his thighs, saying things under his breath in Russian that can only be filthy from his tone, and Yuuri struggles to not outdo him in his own mother tongue. He gives up as his orgasm beckons, increasingly thankful that they’re not at home so he won’t have to apologize to his darling mother for his language scaring their patrons.

Victor’s hips jerk, losing their rhythm, and Yuuri pushes his back to meet him as he comes, his grip on Yuuri going from light bruising to Yuuri hoping no one but Victor sees him pantsless for a while, his voice pitching high in an exclamation of Yuuri’s name. Yuuri finishes a moment later, managing to bite back the shout that tries to rip out of his throat as he quite literally sprays the door with his release.

Yuuri knows he’s a flushed, sweaty mess in a way that is probably not explainable using his performance. There is absolutely, when he turns around to take him in, no logical justification for Victor’s similar _dishabille_ state. Victor’s a coach. What are they going to tell people, they decided to jog for a while in a suit and ice skates?

“We didn’t think this through,” Yuuri announces as he tries to regulate his breathing.

Victor’s expression is shit-eating. “I don’t care if they figure it out. You shouldn’t either.”

Most of the time, Yuuri wouldn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t let Victor post him so much on his social media. “This is just a _little_ inappropriate.”

Victor waves a hand dismissively, and he touches Yuuri’s cheek with his clean palm. “It’s not so bad. There’s been worse.”

Yuuri shakes his head, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “I shouldn’t encourage you.”

Victor laughs. “That I’ll agree with.”

They fix each other’s clothes and hair, trying to make their having had a quickie as subtle as possible. Yuuri soaps a paper towel and wipes down his mess after they both wash their hands, and Victor delicately puts on his leather gloves. Before Yuuri unlocks the door, Victor pulls him close for a long, sweet kiss, and he whispers, “You were magnificent.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, his eyes crinkling with joy. They head back to the green room where the second group is about to go on, and Yuuri stands against a wall while Victor fetches both of them some water.

Phichit stands next to Yuuri with his arms folded above his head. “Your short program was off the hook,” he says.

“Thanks,” Yuuri smiles.

“Your coach seems to agree,” Phichit adds. “Let me guess...he just took you somewhere private for _special critique_ , right?”

Yuuri starts coughing with no provocation. He gives Phichit a dirty look. “Shut up.”

Phichit’s looking at him sideways, and Yuuri is, as ever, amazed that his eyeliner stayed flawless through a program. “I’m just saying if you were spies, your governments would crumble the first day.”

Yuuri’s glare darkens. “I hate you so much right now.”

Phichit laughs, loud and boisterous, as Victor comes over with the water. “What’s so funny?” Victor asks with a smile.

Phichit keeps laughing. “Nothing. Inside joke.” He grins at Victor. “You do good work. Keep it up.”

Yuuri spits out the sip of water he had in his mouth.

As he walks back to the television and Guang-Hong, Phichit gives Yuuri a wink and pats Victor on the shoulder twice. Victor watches him go with a bit of confusion in the set of his brow. Then he turns to Yuuri with the light of understanding in his eyes. “He figured it out, didn’t he?”

“Hypothetically speaking...if I kill a competitor, I’ll get disqualified, right?” Yuuri asks as he glares daggers at the word THAILAND across a certain person’s back.

Victor raises his index finger to his lips for a few moments. “Two words: Tonya Harding.”

Even though Yuuri was barely a year old when that happened, he _is_ a professional figure skater. He knows that story like it’s his. “Damn.”

“Apologies,” Victor says with sincerity. “Come, let’s watch the others.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, a bit of his irritation subsiding, as he stands on Guang-Hong’s other side while the competition resumes. Victor wraps his arms around him from behind, and Yuuri leans into him as they watch Georgi, Leo, and Chris.

Leo’s pretty decent. Georgi is terrifying. Chris barely begins, and Yuuri regrets having “Eros” for his short. He should have known---the entire skating community knows when you want a program about sex, you call Chris.

Guang-Hong looks somewhat unnerved, and Phichit has a conflicted look on his face that Yuuri can only explain in part. “The ice is soaking wet,” Phichit contemplates out loud when Chris is done. 

Guang-Hong sputters and then hits him across the chest. “Ew.”

“Am I wrong?” Phichit retorts.

Yuuri sighs. “I guess he wins the sexiness today,” he laments.

Victor turns so his lips are in his ear. “Not to me. Which, I'm sure, I’ve proven rather thoroughly.”

Yuuri’s face heats. He clears his throat. “Fair enough.”

Chris takes fifth place. Guang-Hong is sixth, Phichit fourth, Leo third, and Georgi second.

Yuuri’s eyes slowly widen as he takes two steps away from Victor. “Wait. _Wait_.”

_Going into tomorrow’s Free Program in first place, with an all-time personal best, is Japan’s Katsuki Yuuri!_

Yuuri’s happy, of course, but not as happy as Victor, who raises both of his arms above his head and shouts. He grabs him in a huge hug, swirling him around half a dozen times until Yuuri can’t tell if he’s dizzy from ranking first or the spinning.

The press swarms him, and one of them asks, “Yuuri, how do you plan to compete tomorrow? What is your strategy?”

Yuuri doesn’t think before he says with a serious expression, “I’m going to win with the power of love!”

Victor pops into the camera’s view and says something with a lot of cheer, Yuuri glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes.

_The power of our love, _he thinks.__

__He doesn’t dare say it out loud._ _

__When Victor smiles at him, he knows he doesn't need to._ _


	7. Beijing 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening after the Short Program until they arrive back home in Hasetsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawd give me strength because this was hard as hell to get through.
> 
> Reason 1) I'm basing a lot of Yuuri's anxiety off how my own manifests, because in canon his works like mine. Which means I kept having to take a couple days away from this part of the story at a time because it'd get a little too real. I experience the circular logic, self-loathing, mild dissociation, and borderline Imposter Syndrome the way he is presented as doing so here. So I'm going to just this once ask if you have a disagreement about how I've portrayed this to kindly not bring it up in a comment. The reason being since I'm basing this so much on myself, there's kind of no way for it to not come across as dismissive of my lived experiences, and I kind of won't be able to not take it personally.
> 
> That said Yuuri needs to love himself more and if I could I would give him a giant chocolate cake, eighteen poodles, and a Ferrari. (Though Victor probs can handle all of that himself.)
> 
> Reason 2) My beloved cat of almost 16 years was just diagnosed with lymphoma. His prognosis is good and there is hope! But dealing with it the day I found out kind of ate up an entire 24 hours. I don't explain these things as an excuse for the delay in the update but simply just to say I'm sorry but I had real life stuff and that had to be my priority.
> 
> Okay now on to the things you actually care about...the notes.
> 
> The songs that play on Yuuri's depressing-ass-be-careful-Phichit-will-give-you-a-stern-look-and-then-deletion playlist are "The Army Corps of Architects" by Death Cab for Cutie and "Doctor My Eyes" by Jackson Brown. (When I picked these songs I straight got a mental image of Phichit knocking on Yuuri's door at like one am begging him to listen to other music please Yuuri I can only prevent myself from crying for so long.)
> 
> Yuuri's savage opinions about American and Japanese food have been stolen from my friend Johnny, who was born and raised in Atlanta, moved to NYU for college, and ex-patted to Osaka the minute he graduated. He's been there a decade now and comes home for Christmas every year so if there's someone's opinions that are legit about sushi and hamburgers in each country, it's his. Victor's opinion on Japanese pizza is, frankly, every white person I know who's eaten it's opinion. (It just doesn't sound appealing, IMO, but I guess there's no way to know for sure until I actually eat some.)
> 
> Xiao long bao is the real name for soup dumplings. They are a perfect food. I like Dark and Stormys so therefore Yuuri drinks Dark and Stormys. (If you like spiced rum, they are the shit.) The red thing Chris has in a martini glass is a cosmo, though that was probably a fairly easy guess. Phichit is the most stereotypically manly drinker of the four because sometimes I enjoy dramatic irony.
> 
> Did we figure out by what game Yuuri was playing on the flight last chapter that there's a certain shoujo manga and anime he's into? Because yeah, there was a point to that beyond him just playing the game. Mari is actually in the right age cohort to have gotten into Sailor Moon as a kid when the first anime was airing, and I headcanon that when she outgrew it, Yuuri found her merch and tapes and became a fan too. The argument they have about it is still, after 25 years, a hot topic. (I agree with Yuuri, but the vast majority of people I know agree with Mari. Long as we're all in agreement she shouldn't be with Prince Demande, everything's gravy.)
> 
> Also I really just...could not resist Toshiya's commentary on the televised kiss. I'm sorry, I find it really funny on a personal level because I am silly sometimes. I understand if you don't though, it's probably an old fandom joke by now.
> 
> I said at the beginning there was going to be a side pairing or two in this, and today on this most auspicious of days, we have the first one! Because when your best friend dates another pro skater's BFF, why shouldn't you get to know each other better away from the rink? Also you know, Phichit and Chris in the GPF episodes were kind of rooting a lot for each other and taking pics together and sitting with each other and...well I am easy sometimes. 
> 
> Oh as a head's up, Yuuri pukes at one point in this chapter. I know some people are sensitive to that.
> 
>  **Belated ETA:** I can't believe I never specified this somehow, but the lullaby Victor sings is a traditional Hebrew lullaby called "Numi Numi." Sorry I hope you all haven't been too confused by that.

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37256343436/in/dateposted-public/)  


After all is said and done, Victor and Yuuri end up back at the hotel. Yuuri checks his phone for the first time since he looked at Instagram before his program, and there’s a missed call from Yu-chan. He calls her back.

The call is picked up on the third ring, and a jumble of voices all scream his name. Yuuri blinks and holds the phone away from his ear. “Uh, hi.”

“Yuuri, oh my God,” Yuuko says. “You were so amazing! We’re so proud of you!”

“You were awesome!” Takeshi adds.

There’s a sound of shuffling, and then his mother and father begin talking. “Yuuri, we are so proud of you! You looked so good out there!”

Mari chimes in. “You were so great! I can’t believe it!”

The phone gets passed around over a dozen times, everyone heaping mounds upon mounds of praise on him to the point where he can’t even get a word in edgewise, and they all tell him how sure they are he can do just as great in the free skate. 

Yuuri nods, the expression on his face becoming more and more empty as the call goes on. Finally, he thanks them and hangs up. While he was on the phone, Victor showered and changed into a pair of loose drawstring pants and a shirt that the collar dips low enough it shows off his clavicle. 

There’s a knock on their door, and Victor opens it to Minako. She grins at both of them. “Hi, boys.”

“Come in,” Victor says with a matching grin of his own.

Minako sits next to Yuuri on the bed they haven’t been sleeping in. Yuuri strips off his JSF warm up and stretches, wearing a red t-shirt Victor likes and his track pants. She ruffles his hair for a minute, making a huge mess of it thanks to the gel and sweat. “Yuuri,” she says, her voice slightly choked up. “You were so amazing.”

“He was,” Victor says as he leans against the wall opposite them. He smiles at Yuuri with pride. “He’ll do just as well tomorrow.”

Yeah. Sure. Yuuri swallows.

“Of course he will,” Minako says. Her hand squeezes Yuuri’s forearm. “Right, Yuuri?”

“...Yeah,” Yuuri manages. He searches for an escape route. “I’m gonna shower.”

He grabs a change of clothes without really looking at them and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He strips down to his boxers and braces his hands against the edge of the counter, bending at the waist and aiming his eyes down at the sink. There’s a faint taste of bile in his saliva, and he can’t seem to breathe as slowly or as deeply as he wants. 

Shit.

He was okay for once. He was straight up confident compared to the night before Chugoku, and his mental state was flawless compared to last year’s Nationals and GPF. 

Then he finished first. Then everyone told him how awesome he is.

There’s no way he can live up to this. There’s just not. There’s no way for him to get the gold medal tomorrow; he’s not that good. Skating so well today was a fluke---tomorrow will be back to mediocrity, and everyone will regret cheering him on. Victor will realize he’s wasted his time coaching him, and he’ll fall out of love to boot, realizing he can do so much better than plain, dime-a-dozen Katsuki Yuuri.

The bile taste increases as the texture of his saliva thickens, but he forces the urge to throw up away. Minako and Victor will hear him, there’s no way they won’t.

Yuuri looks himself in the eye. It’s like he can’t recognize his face, that he can't trust the reflection he sees is himself. He seems to think he should be the chubby ten-year-old watching Junior Worlds with Yuuko and Takeshi for the first time, seeing this otherworldly boy with flowing silver hair and a costume Yuuri has the audacity to pretend he’s worthy of skating like it’s his second nature, like it’s how he breathes---

Yuuri has to swallow the bile again. He walks away from the mirror and turns on the shower. He sets it to only warm enough he won’t freeze, kicks off his boxers, and stands under the spray for fifteen minutes before he even reaches for the soap or shampoo. He cleans himself quickly, realizing that Victor or Minako might grow concerned and interrupt him. 

He rinses off, puts on his fresh clothes, and steps back into the main part of the hotel room. Minako and Victor are both stretched out on the bed across from each other laughing with a giant pizza box in the middle. Yuuri wonders how they found delivery pizza in Beijing as he sits next to Victor’s legs. Victor changes position so there’s more room for him, and he slings a casual arm over Yuuri’s left shoulder so his hand rests on his chest. 

Yuuri opens the pizza box. Victor got his favorite---cheese, sausage, mushrooms, and onions. Victor favors pepperoni and olives, and Yuuri knows he’s been missing pizza for a while. Victor ordered pizza in Hasetsu exactly once, and Yuuri wishes he’d recorded his reaction because he wasn’t there to translate the menu when he called it in. 

Long story short, Victor got corn and mayonnaise as toppings, and he didn’t _hate_ it, but he didn’t enjoy himself, either. It’s the only thing he’s eaten in Japan he didn’t lavish with praise. It was hilarious, resulting in Mari taking video for her Snapchat, and Yuuri openly laughing at him the whole time he struggled with the one slice he fought through. 

Fortunately, Yuuri’s dad loves those toppings so it didn’t go to waste.

Yuuri takes a slice and folds it in half how a rinkmate from New York taught him, biting into it and chewing. It’s not bad considering where they are.

Minako and Victor converse in Russian, and Yuuri leans into Victor as he eats. When he first entered international competitions, the language always sounded harsh to him, as if the person could say, _balmy weather we’re having_ , and he’d feel scolded. Now, he adores the way it sounds. It reminds him of love and safety.

Yuuri’s picked up some from being in Victor’s back pocket for half a year, and he catches his name along with the odd complimentary phrase. They’re praising him, he realizes, and while that should bolster his ego, it instead makes him feel even worse.

Yuuri manages to finish one piece of pizza without tasting anything but sawdust. He swallows, the bile coming back, and he closes his eyes.

Minako trails off mid-sentence. “Oh!” she says. “Yuuri, you must be so tired! I should go, let you two get some sleep---”

Yuuri can feel Victor looking at him. “Yeah, um...I’d like to go to bed,” Yuuri replies, his voice borderline meek.

“Of course, Yuuri,” Victor says. Yuuri feels a hand run through his still-damp hair. Lips press against his temple. “Excuse me.”

Victor unwinds himself from Yuuri, who hears both of the others get off the bed. Victor walks Minako out, the two of them talking in hushed conversation for a minute before Yuuri hears the door latch. Yuuri lies on his side with his eyes closed and his knees bent to his chest. Victor lies down in front of him, Yuuri feeling his eyes on his face. “Yuuri?”

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?” Victor asks. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

Yuuri debates telling him, but he doesn’t know that Victor can help. He realizes as the seconds roll by Victor will lose respect for him, thinking he’s weak and not worthy of his attention. He swallows. “I’m just tired.”

Victor hms, and Yuuri gets pulled into Victor’s warmth, the softness of his loungewear feeling like a down blanket. Yuuri’s hands cling to the fabric on Victor’s back as he tries to anchor himself in his lover--his scent, his warmth, his strength. Victor strokes his back and hair. 

“Come,” Victor says in a voice as soft as cotton batting. “Let’s sleep.”

Yuuri halfway opens his eyes, letting Victor move him to the bed they share, with Victor turning down the covers and tucking them in together. Yuuri rolls onto his side with his back to him, Victor’s arm around his waist. It’s a common sleep position they use, but Yuuri has deliberately chosen it so Victor can’t see his face.

Lips press into Yuuri’s skin between his hair and his shirt collar, replaced by Victor’s free hand massaging his neck with slow touches. It’s very relaxing, or rather it would be any other time, and Yuuri tries to relax. 

His hands are sweaty. He goes a few minutes without tasting the bile in his throat only for it to return and disappear again. The constant back and forth makes Yuuri regret eating what little he did.

Victor softly sings to Yuuri, though not in Russian, English, or Japanese. It’s not a language Yuuri recognizes; he knows Victor is also fluent in French, as that’s primarily how he and Chris communicate. Yuuri would recognize French---this isn’t it. It’s too...Yuuri can’t find a word, but the language has a different feel than French.

The tempo of the music suggests a lullaby, something sung to children who are in need of comfort. It should work, but it doesn’t, and Yuuri’s eyes stay wide open as he does a breathing exercise Celestino taught him back in Detroit. He inhales for eight seconds, exhales for six. He can feel his heart slow, but the crawling under his skin remains as Victor continues to sing. He has a decent voice, Yuuri thinks---not great but decent. 

The lullaby winds down, and Victor kisses Yuuri’s neck again. “You asleep, _lapochka_?” he whispers.

Yuuri doesn’t answer. He tries to, but it’s the same situation as Victor's love declaration---his brain robs him of his ability to speak. He lies still and silent as a stone.

Victor doesn’t speak again, reaching behind him to turn off the lamp. He gets back into his position, and Yuuri hears him drift to sleep, his breathing deep and regular against his neck.

Yuuri lies in the dark staring at the window, mind racing a like a Formula One car through the streets of Monte Carlo.

_\-----_

Hours and hours later the light changes, Yuuri witnessing the sky turn from inky navy to a faded gray, yellow and lavender, finishing as pale blue with sunshine streaming through the curtains. 

He’s fucked.

He’s completely and thoroughly fucked.

He hasn’t even slept for five minutes. All he could do was think in circles. 

He’s a mediocre skater. Mediocrity means missing the podium. Missing the podium means no Grand Prix Final. No Grand Prix Final means no need for a coach. His making Victor’s coaching obsolete means Victor will anger and fall out of love. Victor falling out of love means he will bail and not look back. 

He uses logic many times that night. Victor has told him that he wants to be with him long term, which means he won’t probably leave if Yuuri messes up his free skate. Yuuri is significantly ahead in points compared to his five competitors. He can afford a couple mistakes in his free program and still make the podium. Victor has never said he wants to quit being his coach, so he shouldn’t assume that’s a thought in his head.

Then Yuuri remembers he’s mediocre, nothing special, and a mess. He remembers he can’t even not bomb his Nationals, let alone the Grand Prix series. He remembers every single fall he’s taken when it mattered. He remembers that him nailing the Salchow yesterday is a fluke, and that he succeeds at it less than a third of the time in competition. 

He remembers his boring brown eyes, flat nose, too-round cheeks, nerdy glasses.

He remembers that at the end of the day, he has nothing to offer Victor as a skater or a lover, and that one day, he’ll leave. No matter how much Yuuri loves him, no matter how hard he tries, Victor will wake up one morning and go, turning Yuuri into some joke of an anecdote at cocktail parties. 

_Remember that charity case you spent those months with in Japan? What was his name?_

_Who cares?_

His eyes sting both from lack of sleep and bitter tears. Yuuri swallows down the wounded noise he so desperately wants to make. 

He always thought that failing last season so hard, that letting his entire country down, would be the worst pain he’d feel. Not even close, the pain of losing Victor so severe Yuuri feels it choking him, weighing like a shackle around his throat. 

Does he even know how to live without him anymore? Can he?

He knows he’ll mess up today, he’ll miss the podium, he’ll finish last, he won’t make it to the Final, and that Victor will leave like the whirlwind he entered Yuuri's life as. Yuuri knows he’ll finish last, that Victor will bail, and that Yuuri will hold the bag for the rest of his life.

Except...shit. If he fails then Victor will also have to hold the bag, because his reputation will be irreparably destroyed. Victor will look so bad by association even if he goes back to competing no one will take him seriously. He’ll lose everyone’s respect. Yuuri hardly has any respect of his own, but Victor will lose it all.

Yuuri gets out of bed as quietly as he can, and he goes into the bathroom. He turns on the sink and splashes his face with cold water for five minutes. 

Being with him has ruined Victor’s entire life.

He doesn’t have time to shut off the water before he moves, dropping to his knees and managing to throw up what little he can into the toilet. His stomach muscles cramp, his throat burns as he struggles to empty himself. Nothing really happens---it’s been too long since he ate---but he heaves for ten minutes, thick spit falling into the bowl in rivulets. When he’s finally done, he muffles the sounds of his sobs as he shakes on his knees, covering his mouth with both hands. 

His tears aren't falling, but he needs a release so his voice decides to pick up the slack.

When he's regained some control, Yuuri stands while wincing at the bruising on his knees. He goes back to the still-running faucet and washes his face again, wetting a washcloth and pressing it to his eyes until it turns too warm to soothe. He looks at himself in the mirror and while this time he knows it’s his face, he’s utterly disgusted.

Plain, boring, unremarkable, giant screw-up, calling him a total failure is a kindness...Katsuki Yuuri.

Yuuri exits the bathroom, silently moving as he puts on a set of warm ups and his JSF jacket. He leaves a note for Victor for when he wakes, and he, as quietly as he can, heads out. He goes to the arena, showing security his badge, and they let him in. He didn’t bring his skates, but he sits alone in the Kiss and Cry staring at the ice as the Zamboni smooths it for the day’s events. Yuuri puts his earbuds in and plays music on his phone.

Yuuri selects a playlist that every time Phichit sees it he tries to delete because in his words _Dude, you don’t need help being sad_ , but Yuuri can’t stomach upbeat songs when he’s down---that type of music makes him want to throw things. So he has this playlist for special occasions such as this morning.

_You said the urn was half full when I said it was half empty with what was left of our fair city. Call in the army corps of architects to flatten the skyline and begin again. I knew the years would move quickly, but never quite as fast as this. So bring the discrepancies, I'll pour the drinks…_

Yuuri stares at the rink, his hands knotted in his lap. Less than 24 hours ago, the world was at his feet. It’s sad that he still forgets so easily that nothing good ever lasts for him. Other people, sure. Him? Never.

Crews and workers file in, cleaning up trash they missed or fixing broken chairs that complaints were received about. No one notices him, which is good. He’s not sure how he’d explain if they did since he doesn’t need to be here until the late afternoon.

A different song starts.

_'Cause I have wandered through this world, and as each moment has unfurled---I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams. People go just where they will, I never noticed them until I got this feeling that it's later than it seems..._

His eyes are so focused that he misses someone standing over him. It takes him a while to register the shadow obscuring the arena’s track-lighting. He glances up. 

It’s Victor.

He’s already in his suit and coat, but the look on his face is utter confusion. He reaches up to his ears and makes a gesture like he’s removing headphones. Yuuri follows his instructions. “What are you doing here?”

Yuuri shrugs.

Victor takes one hand and angles Yuuri’s face so he can see him clearly. Yuuri doesn’t look directly in his eyes, so he hears Victor react to his appearance with a loud noise of distress. “Yuuri, you haven’t slept?”

It’s not quite an accusation, but it burns like one. “No, I---” He can’t finish the lie. Why should he? He saw the dark circles in the bathroom when he took off the compress.

Victor shakes his head. “Come. We’re going back.”

“Victor---” Yuuri complains as Victor drags him back to their hotel, Yuuri half-heartedly attempting to loosen his grip on his wrist the whole way. Once they’re back, Victor puts the Do Not Disturb sign on their door and strips Yuuri down to his boxers. Then he grabs him and manhandles him into the unmade bed.

Victor rummages in his suitcase for something, pulling out a black satin sleep mask. “Good. It’s still here from the last time I used it,” he says. Yuuri sits up, but before he can protest Victor slides the mask down over his eyes. There’s nothing but darkness and when Yuuri tries to lift the mask, Victor flicks his hand off. He hears Victor move away, fabric rustling and falling to the floor, and then he smells Victor’s proximity again. “Lie down,” Victor orders.

“But---” Yuuri complains in the direction of his voice.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Victor barely doesn’t snap.

Yuuri sighs and nods. He lies down, pulling the comforter up to his chin. Victor spoons him, Yuuri realizing he’s also stripped down to just his underwear. His body heat is normally welcome, but today Yuuri feels stifled, like he’s being smothered. He aches with exhaustion and anxiety, but he can’t get comfortable and therefore he can’t sleep.

Victor notices. “Want one of my pills?”

“No,” Yuuri says. “I’ll be groggy when I have to skate.”

Victor makes a noise that’s some kind of assent. His hands stroke Yuuri’s back like he’s trying to gain the trust of a spooked stray dog. “How can I help you, _lapochka_? How can I get you to rest?”

 _Don’t leave_ , Yuuri wants to say. _Don’t quit. Stay with me no matter how hard I fall. Don’t regret this. Don’t regret **us**._

Instead, he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

One of Victor’s hands continues to pet his spine, the other stroking his stomach. Yuuri feels a spike of arousal pull at him, but it’s not enough to outweigh the stress and self-loathing. He rolls his head back onto Victor’s shoulder, arching into him like a cat as Victor’s hand traces patterns on his stomach. 

Yuuri has an idea. It worked the night before Chugoku...maybe it’ll work a second time. “Victor?”

“Yes?”

“Remember what you offered to do at the hot pot restaurant?” Yuuri asks.

“When I said I’d blow you in front of Phichit and Celestino,” Victor muses.

Yuuri exhales. “Can I take you up on that right now?”

Victor’s hand freezes. “Are you sure?”

No. “Yeah,” Yuuri says. “I think it might relax me enough to sleep.”

Victor tugs on his waist, Yuuri’s body pliant as he maneuvers him onto his back. He can’t see, the mask still covering his face, but he can picture the expression on Victor’s face: his eyes are probably wide and he might look outright disbelieving. “I have reservations about this, you know.”

Yuuri lifts the mask off one eye, blinking for a second at the light. Victor stares down at him with equal parts concern and care. “ _Pozhaluista_. Please.”

Victor’s expression softens, some of the darkness of his worries fading. “If you think it’ll help.”

Yuuri tosses the mask to the other side of the bed. “Yes.”

Victor smiles, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. Yuuri’s right hand winds into the hairs at Victor’s nape, pulling his face closer as he deepens the kiss. Victor’s hands stroke Yuuri’s sides as he slides his mouth to Yuuri’s left ear. Yuuri makes a gasp that morphs into a loud groan as Victor’s tongue traces a pattern over his lobe.

Yuuri’s free hand rakes over Victor’s back, likely leaving nail marks as tends to happen. No one will see them, though, unlike the risks they take at the _ryokan_. Victor lowers himself on Yuuri’s person, lips gently caressing his neck, growing stronger when he gets below where the costume covers. Victor spends several minutes sucking a red mark on Yuuri’s chest below the V-neck in the purple shirt, biting another mark just above his navel. 

Yuuri’s hand grips Victor’s shoulder like an anchor, his other tugging at Victor’s hair on the crown of his head. Victor’s tongue dips into Yuuri’s navel, causing him to arch off the bed with a moan. His hands grasp the waistband of Yuuri’s underwear, not quite pulling it yet, and Victor’s mouth glides down a trail with open-mouthed kisses. 

As carefully as he can, Victor tugs down the black fabric, and Yuuri feels the climate-controlled air of the room hit his groin and hips. His cock is hard, flush against his stomach, and Victor pauses to take in the sight of him. It’s a ritual Victor has at this point, that when he goes down on Yuuri he has to stop and admire him like he’s a piece of fine art on display in a wing at the Musee D’Orsay. It used to cause Yuuri a hideous amount of embarrassment, but today he’s just impatient. “Victor---”

Victor’s hands drag down the insides of Yuuri’s thighs, his nails scratching faint welts Yuuri knows he’ll feel when he skates. He loves it. “I know,” Victor chuckles. “Don’t mind me.”

Victor’s face bends, and he runs his tongue over the head of Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri jerks, his hips crashing up until Victor throws an arm across them, restraining him down into the mattress. “Not this time,” Victor chides. 

In one elegant movement, he swallows Yuuri’s cock deep into his throat. Yuuri groans again, louder this time, as Victor pulls back up and winds his tongue around him. Yuuri is tired, he is so tired, but his brain has shut up, and Victor is an expert at this particular skill, the skill of blowing Katsuki Yuuri. 

Victor knows all his hot points, all his triggers, and he takes advantage almost to the point of abuse, driving Yuuri to the brink of insanity as he edges him so close only to back away. Yuuri’s heart beats like he’s run a marathon, his breathing shallow and rapid, as he begs Victor in a mixture of the two languages he’s competent in to let him come. 

Victor takes pity, pumping his cock with one fist as he sucks just the way Yuuri loves, and Yuuri comes in several explosive spurts. He shouts Victor’s name as his spine unwinds and his body slows its functions. His hand loosens its grip on Victor’s hair as Victor climbs back up him to press a kiss to his now-sweaty hair. 

Yuuri’s eyes close almost by reflex and before his thoughts can once again become poison, he fades into a shallow sleep.

_\-----_

He may as well not rest, his dreams lucid and terrible enough he recognizes them for what they are. He fights to swim back to consciousness, but it’s like he’s in rising water with a vice around his leg holding him to the seafloor. His dreams are of him and Victor in a room, and somehow no matter what Yuuri offers, Victor remains unmoved, his heart a literal chunk of carbon-black coal. Yuuri begs, Yuuri touches, Yuuri confesses, and Victor’s eyes stay blank and cold like an empty rink, like he’s never seen Yuuri in his life. Like Yuuri is less than nothing to him, like he’s an amoeba and Victor’s still human, exponentially larger and completely unaware.

Yuuri manages to fight awake with a low cry, his arms flailing. Victor makes calming sounds, whispering soothing words in Russian, as he strokes Yuuri’s hair. “ _Lapochka_ ,” Victor says. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’m with you, Yuuri. I’m _here_.”

Yuuri covers his face. He gasps a few times behind his hands. His body begins to shake as a primal noise escapes his closed mouth. Victor strokes his spine and one of his arms, kissing his hair like he did earlier. Yuuri is soothed like a skittish foal, and it causes him to drift in and out of sleep again until Victor with regret filling his voice tells him he has to get up.

Yuuri feels like maybe he shouldn’t have slept at all, the subpar rest he managed making him feel ill and jittery. It’s irrelevant as he dresses, Victor doing the same, and they go back to the arena. Yuuri cracks his neck and upper shoulders. His eyes aim down at the ground, not even meeting Victor’s when he addresses him. “Don’t do any jumps,” Victor says with his voice so kind and soft. “Just loosen up, maybe polish your step sequences or spins. Don’t try the Salchow, don’t do any jumps.”

Yuuri can’t help but feel condescended to. He takes off his skate guards and gets on the ice with his fellow competitors. He does a Salchow, only he botches it and goes down, rolling onto his face and chest. Yuuri brushes the slush off his pants and jacket, going back to skating. He passes Phichit, seeing out of the corner of his eye that he looks concerned. He passes Chris too, who watches him with a similar face.

Great, he hasn’t even skated yet, and everyone pities him.

Why shouldn’t they? He’s going to fuck it all up, and Victor will bail.

The circular venom winds through his thoughts like his sleep and the blow job never happened. Shit. Fuck. Victor escorts him backstage, and he shakes so hard he can’t open the cap on a water bottle. 

The competition begins, and the crowd noise is cacophonous. It’s a rattling sort of death knell, and Yuuri’s leg trembles as he puts in earplugs and buries his face in his hands. It’s not enough so he turns off every television backstage and returns to shivering in his chair.

He can feel Victor’s eyes following his every move, but he isn’t offering any kind of solution or comfort. They’ve spent every waking moment together for six months. Yuuri has explained to Victor more than once how weak he is. Why is he so shocked? Why isn’t he helping?

Yuuri stretches against a wall, Victor standing nearby. At some point, his body stops moving and Yuuri just stares at nothing while his body quakes. A hand grasps him by the shoulder. “Ah, Yuuri---” Victor says, his voice a little more taught than usual. “Come, let’s get you somewhere less open.”

Yuuri doesn’t object, Victor steering him down staircases into a mostly darkened parking garage. The crowd noise is gone, but Yuuri still trembles. Victor stands before him with darkness in his eyes and a frown. “Run through your program,” he says.

Yuuri cracks his neck again. He stands in place, doing the arm motions, counting to the beat he hears in his head. When he’s done, Victor makes him go again.

When he’s done the second time, Yuuri makes a mistake. He removes the earplugs, but he does so as whoever is skating elicits a loud cheer from the audience that reverberates through the car park. 

“Don’t listen!” Victor shouts, and if Yuuri weren’t in such a poor state, it would scare him. Victor covers his ears with his hands. He looks into Yuuri’s eyes, and for the first time in their association, Yuuri can see blind panic there 

It’s almost like looking in a mirror.

“Victor---” Yuuri says. He tries to do the math with how long they’ve been gone. “It’s time, isn’t it? We need to go back.”

He takes Victor’s hands off his ears and brushes past him.

Victor doesn’t follow. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri stops. He turns to face him.

Victor meets his gaze. “If you don’t make it to the podium, I’ll take full responsibility by resigning as your coach.”

Yuuri recoils like Victor slapped him. 

It’s true. He wants to leave. He’s ready to go. All of it’s true...every terrible thing Yuuri’s thought since last night is true. It’s all true.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels the tears roll down his jaw.

“Why would you say that?” Yuuri chokes out. “Are you trying to test me?”

As fucked up as it is, God he hopes Victor is testing him.

Victor’s face is stricken, his skin white as a sheet. “Ah, I’m so sorry, Yuuri---” He comes close to him...he could touch him if he so desires, but he holds back. 

Yuuri bows his head. He chokes again. “This whole time---this entire time, I’ve been thinking you want to quit! That you secretly want any excuse to go!”

“Of course I don’t, _lapochka_ ,” Victor says with shock in his voice.

“I know!” Yuuri shouts. “But I think it anyways. I’m used to my failures reflecting poorly on me...but this time...this time, _you’ll_ be humiliated if I blow this! And I can’t handle it!”

Yuuri’s hands are balled into fists. The tears won’t stop, no matter how much he wishes otherwise. He’s so angry and scared---it’s all he can manage.

Victor sighs, though it’s sad. He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do with people who are crying in front of me,” he admits. “Should I do what I did earlier and kiss you or something?”

Yuuri wipes his face with his jacket sleeve. It’s too late for that, he thinks. “No! I don’t need you to---to do or say anything! I just need you to be here! I need you to stay by my side! I need you to have more faith in me than I do that I’ll win!”

Victor closes the distance and, though he does not kiss Yuuri, he holds him close for as long as he can afford to do so. It’s enough that Yuuri manages to get a grip and stop crying. Victor gives him a look full of love and apology as he steers him back to the rink, and as Georgi’s program hits the halfway mark while a woman sings about how she’ll save her prince, they bypass the press and get through the curtain to the crowd side of the boards. 

Victor frees Yuuri from his Japan jacket, setting it down. He helps him into his skates, and once the rink is clear of toys, Yuuri steps onto the ice. Victor holds out the Makkachin tissue holder. 

Yuuri takes a tissue and blows his nose. He gives Victor a look that is laced more with disdain than anything, and he drops it on the ice to be spiteful. When Victor bends down to catch it, Yuuri pokes his hair like he did that day back in June that now seems was a lifetime ago. 

Victor stiffens.

Yuuri then strokes his hair, soft and affectionate. He skates to the middle of the rink.

The announcer introduces him and his music starts. He does okay. He somehow messes up a jump he can do in his sleep, and his combinations are inelegant. He’s so angry at first, thinking about how blind Victor is that he didn’t foresee his breakdown. 

As the program goes on, Yuuri softens. He loves Victor even if he is an idiot sometimes, and he appreciates how much Victor has done to help him. He’s gone above and beyond, and Yuuri realizes he’s being unfair as he’s never been this bad before. He wants to give him something to show he understands and appreciates him, that he’s forgiven him too, but---

Well wait. If he changes the last jump to Victor’s signature quad flip, maybe that will work as an apology. He’ll actually say the words, of course, but he can make a gesture too.

Besides, if he nails it, he’d like to surprise Victor.

The song winds down---it’s time, and Yuuri does the quad flip. It ends badly, he takes a dive and falls, but he gets the right number of rotations, the audience is losing their minds, and he stands right back up, finishing how he’s supposed to with eyes and arms reaching out to his love.

The crowd screams, throwing toys and flowers. People openly weep. Yuuri turns to greet them, but when he glances back Victor’s disappeared. “Victor?” There’s a moving blur in his peripheral vision the color of Victor’s trenchcoat, and he sees him run to the rink entrance. Yuuri’s feet move before he tells them to. “Victor! Didn’t I do great?”

Just as he gets close Victor leaps towards him, enveloping him in his arms, and their mouths connect, Victor’s eyes closing as he gives him a deep kiss. Yuuri’s eyes stay wide open as they tip backwards, Victor separating their faces and cushioning his head with his hand as they land on the ice.

Yuuri blinks up at the Kleigs.

“I had to do something to surprise you the way you did me,” Victor says as he pulls back so they can look at each other. His cheeks are pink, his eyes glimmering with love, and he has the gentlest smile Yuuri’s ever seen. He can’t help but smile back. “This was the only thing I could think of.”

Yuuri hopes his love for Victor shows. His hand is on the back of his neck, and he strokes his nape. “Really?”

Victor’s eyes sparkle brighter. “Yes, _lapochka_.” 

They help each other off the ice, and that is when they notice the fervor of the camera flashes, and the shouting of the crowds. Yuuri shields his eyes. “Jeez.”

Victor wraps an arm around his waist as they get Yuuri’s jacket. He helps him with his skate guards, and they sit in the Kiss and Cry. In spite of the falls, Yuuri manages to do well enough to edge out Chris for silver. 

Phichit ends up number one, though, and Yuuri can’t even be mad, he’s too proud.

The three of them end up on the podium together. While the cameras flash, Phichit says out of the corner of his mouth, “Told you I’d beat you in the free skate.”

Yuuri snorts. “You did,” he says with no guile or bitterness.

Phichit makes the three of them take a selfie, and he’s overjoyed in his expression in it. Chris has an arm around Yuuri, and Yuuri smiles too. Then Phichit insists they all take a large group selfie, and Victor sneaks in holding Yuuri close with all the other coaches far in the background.

Yuuri is upright due to maybe three solid hours of sleep and adrenaline. He wants to go to their room and collapse. Life is not that kind because he medaled and is therefore obligated to attend a press conference.

The three of them walk in, Chris going first in his red and white Suisse jacket, Phichit in the middle with Thailand across his back, and Yuuri in the rear with Japan at his hips. They sit in front of the microphones, and flashbulbs go off like lightning.

For a while, the reporters hone in on Phichit. How does he feel being the first Southeast Asian skater to take first in a Grand Prix qualifier, how does he feel having made history with “Shall We Skate?”, his Prime Minister has already posted congratulations on social media so how does he feel about that, and so on.

Chris gets asked how he feels about taking it all this season, how he feels about his chances without his chief rival competing, and how he feels about his career to this point. 

Then a reporter addresses Yuuri. He holds out a recorder. “Katsuki Yuuri...what was the kiss about?”

The room goes silent, though not in the same way it does when people listen to an athlete's response.

Phichit looks at Yuuri with a big smile. It’s genuine and heartfelt. Chris has leaned back so he can see Yuuri unobstructed, and his expression is supportive and also happy.

Yuuri swallows and glances to the side of the room where their coaches stand in a row against the wall. Chris’s coach looks intrigued. Celestino is trying to look less into the answer than he is, which is hilarious on multiple levels. Victor has a look on his face that tells Yuuri he’ll follow his lead. It’s clear permission to answer how he sees fit.

Yuuri’s sure of his response. “I said in a press conference back home that, thanks to Victor, I’ve learned what love is. I have support of people in my life and even my entire hometown---”

He looks at Victor again before turning his eyes back to the reporter.

“But Victor is the first person to be a full partner to me,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here without him in any capacity.” Yuuri swallows. “And that’s all I have to say.”

Phichit gives Yuuri a look like _oh I’ll hit you up for deets later_ , and while Yuuri can only see the back of Chris’s head, the secretive wink on Victor’s face makes it clear he’s giving him a similar expression. The hazard of skating against your best friends, he figures.

The press conference ends, and Victor gallantly helps Yuuri down from the dais with a stroke of his hair. “Get a room,” Chris calls as he walks past with a shit-eating grin to meet his coach. Phichit cracks up laughing as Celestino takes him away, probably to celebrate.

Yuuri laughs too, though his is tired. Victor puts his hand on his back. “Come, let’s go.” Yuuri looks up at him, and they grab his bag. He checks his phone and is inundated with missed calls and celebratory text messages. He doesn’t have the energy to do much but send a group text to the Nishigoris and his family thanking them and promising he’ll call the next day.

Minako waits outside of the restricted access area, and when she sees them she grins. “Yuuri,” she says with tears in her eyes. She opens her arms wide and even though they generally aren’t huggers, Yuuri runs to her like he’s the nervous little boy in her ballet class for the first time again. She holds him for a second, and then one of her arms leaves his back. Yuuri almost asks why but then Victor slots into it, and the three of them hug for a solid five minutes with Minako sobbing on Yuuri’s shoulder.

Between the two of them he’s going to have to get his jacket dry cleaned, he thinks.

Minako pulls back, her eyes darting back and forth between the couple. She focuses on Victor. “I was worried at first,” she says. “But you’re good for him. You’re good together.”

“Minako,” Yuuri says with affection.

Victor smiles at her and bows his head. “ _Domo arigatou, Minako-sensei,_ ” he says, and Yuuri can hardly hear the Russian accent in his words. He looks at Victor with a loving smile.

“I stand by what I said at the beginning though,” Minako adds with a hard poke at Victor’s chest. “Break Yuuri, I break you.”

Yuuri facepalms. If she only knew.

Victor laughs, though Yuuri can hear the nervous edge. “I won’t. And if I do, I’ll always put him back together.”

Minako smiles. She lets them go. “Yuuri, you look tired. The two of you, go back. Get some rest. You’ve got a long day tomorrow with the exhibition and the banquet.”

Oh God. Yuuri wants to crawl into a hole and sleep for twenty years. It’s like the mention of the following day makes his systems crash, like he’d just been waiting for someone to trigger his exhaustion. His eyes close and Victor seems to sense it, because as his knees buckle an arm holds him up against a broad, solid chest. 

“ _Spasiba_ ,” Yuuri mumbles into the silk wool of Victor’s waistcoat.

Victor makes a soft sound into Yuuri’s hair. “Let’s get you to bed, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t fight or complain, and he doesn’t even register the cab ride or Victor undressing them. He doesn’t notice anything until he’s tucked under the covers with Victor close for the second time that day. He’s too tired to sleep right away, his mind whirring too much with the results and everything that happened.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks.

“Mm,” Yuuri says. It’s all he can manage.

“I’m very proud of you,” Victor says. “And I am deeply---”

“Victor?” Yuuri sighs.

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to have a serious talk with me, can we do it in twelve hours?” Yuuri begs, so tired he sounds like a robot that hasn’t been programmed to have feelings yet.

Victor winces. “Yes, of course.” He kisses Yuuri’s forehead. “Get sleep. My words can wait.”

Yuuri nods a few times, his eyes drifting closed. 

This time when he sleeps, it’s dreamless, solid, and worthwhile.

_\-----_

At some point Yuuri awakens to Victor speaking on the phone in Russian. Yuuri has the grogginess that is unique to sleeping too many hours at once, even though he was dead on his feet when he passed out, and it takes him a couple of minutes to shake off the disoriented feeling. 

Victor’s voice is cheery, booming with affection, and Yuuri hears his name more than once while Victor’s quick rambles last several minutes. He pauses, and then he responds with more happiness filling his tone.

Yuuri sits up, the comforter falling down off his body. He’s in a sleeveless undershirt and his boxers, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his right hand. He makes a noise, and Victor turns to him. He says something in Russian with a smile and then hangs up. “You’re awake!”

“What time is it?” Yuuri says. He can’t tell from the light outside---Victor has the black out curtains drawn tight, so the room is fairly dark. 

Victor checks his phone. “It’s going on noon. You have a few hours before you have to get to the rink for the exhibition.”

“I want a cheeseburger,” Yuuri declares. “And a hot bath.”

Victor chuckles. “Your wish is my command, _lapochka_.”

Room service offers cheeseburgers, and Victor orders Yuuri one with a pile of fries and a giant soda, heading into their en suite to draw his bath. When Victor’s satisfied, he returns to Yuuri, helping him out of bed. He undresses him and lowers him into the hot water. 

Yuuri sighs, leaning his head over the edge of the tub. Victor sits on the toilet. Yuuri doesn’t wash himself, opting to simply soak. When he looks down he sees some fresh bruising on his hips and calves from the falls the day before. There are little aches in his body, not enough to be noticeable before that moment.

Yuuri’s hands rest on the tub edges. He closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Victor says after a few minutes.

Yuuri opens his eyes and looks at him with furrowed eyebrows.

Victor has a sad smile on his face, but he’s not looking at Yuuri. His eyes are focused on the marble tile of the bathroom floor. “I thought what I said would spur you to action. I thought you would think of an empty threat as an incentive to do your best.”

Victor pauses, and Yuuri watches him open and close his hands a few times like he’s stretching. 

“If I had known you believe that I’m searching for a reason to leave you, I’d have never said it,” Victor continues. “If I had known how badly I would hurt you, I never would have said it. Making you cry is the worst thing I’ve ever done, Yuuri. I never want to do it again if I can help it.”

He looks at Yuuri then, and his expression is like a waving, white flag. He also looks like he’s expecting Yuuri to tell him to fuck off. Instead, Yuuri’s eyes regain a bit of light, and his lips slightly up turn into a smile. 

“I should have been more forthcoming,” Yuuri admits. “You asked me what was going on, and I didn’t tell you. I can’t expect you to magically know when my brain has turned into a parade of eight-foot-tall tarantulas.”

Victor blanches at the imagery. 

Yuuri shrugs, looking up at the ceiling tiles. “Phichit tells me that when I say things like that, I shouldn’t. He says how casually I describe my thoughts as toxic can be upsetting for other people. I forget that. Sorry.”

“That’s not it,” Victor says. He gives Yuuri a look full of sympathy. “You shouldn’t have to live like this, is all. It causes me pain to see you struggle.”

Shrugging a second time, Yuuri slices one of his hands through the water, using the moisture to slick back his hair like when he skates. His eyes follow the still-rippling water before returning to Victor’s face. “What can I do though?”

Victor purses his lips. Yuuri’s eyes focus on him while he gathers his thoughts. “I am going to say something to you that I want you to understand is a suggestion,” Victor finally begins. “It’s up to you, and it’s in no way a comment on your ability to handle this yourself. I am also, in no way, insinuating that you are weak. Okay?”

Yuuri nods, because he’s pretty sure he knows where he’s going with this.

“Have you considered medication?” Victor asks.

He was right. 

“Celestino floated it a few times,” Yuuri says. His index finger taps against the tub edge. “I did some research and ruled it out as not being feasible until I stop competing.” Victor’s face reacts, forming an unspoken question. “The side effects, Victor. Too many of those drugs cause weight gain. Too many of them also make you want to kill yourself if they’re a bad fit with your brain chemistry. As depressed as I’ve sometimes been, I’ve never had thoughts like that, and I don’t really want to start.” He’s reminded of something else. “Also, serotonin syndrome is terrifying.”

Victor nods twice. He rubs his lips with his thumb. “I expected that at some point you researched it or tried, but I thought it merited mentioning regardless.”

Yuuri smiles at him. “You’re fine. I’m not offended. It isn’t the worst possible solution...it’s just not a smart gamble while I’m competing.”

“I agree,” Victor says. “Or rather, I do now that you explained the possible ways it could go wrong.”

Yuuri nods. There’s a knock on the door, and Victor excuses himself. It’s room service, and Victor brings the food into the bathroom. There’s a tray that can be pulled across the tub Yuuri assumes is for children’s toys, and it happens to be big enough that Victor can set his food and drink on it.

Growing up in a bathhouse causes Yuuri to initially balk at eating while he soaks, but the food smells too good, and Phichit sometimes takes Taco Bell in the tub with him on rough days so why not? Yuuri bites into the burger, sinking lower into the water with a low moan. “Hm,” he says after he swallows. “It’s not the best one I’ve ever had, but it’s hitting the spot.”

“Where did you have the best one?” Victor asks.

“Chicago,” Yuuri answers. “This place called Kuma’s. I’m not religious, but I could learn for that burger.”

Victor laughs, returning them to a greater semblance of normalcy. “I actually don’t recall the last one I’ve had,” he muses. “Maybe when we get home.”

Yuuri winces. “Don’t do it.”

Victor’s eyebrow disappears under his fringe.

“So,” Yuuri says as he eats some fries. “In the United States, people pay way too much for...I’ll be nice and say mediocre sushi, right?”

Victor nods. “Having eaten sushi in both the United States and Hasetsu, I agree.”

“Well...in Japan, you have to pay way too much for mediocre burgers,” Yuuri explains. “I don’t know what kind of burger situation exists in Moscow, but if you can hold out until Rostelecom, that might be the better option. You won’t be as disappointed, I think.”

“They’re not bad,” Victor says. “There’s one place that’s pretty good. Last time we were both there, Yurio took me. Moscow is his hometown, and he returns a few times a year to see his _Dedushka_.”

It’s odd to think of Yuri as having a grandpa or even a family at all Yuuri ponders, even though logically he knows he wasn’t hatched from some kind of figure-skating-prodigy egg. He finishes his brunch, and by then the water’s cold. Victor takes the tray outside as Yuuri drains the tub and dries off. Just as he finishes, Victor wraps him in the hotel bathrobe, tucking it around his neck.

“You have two hours left for relaxing,” Victor says. “What would you like?”

Yuuri snuggles him, burying his face in his shoulder. “You.”

Victor exhales, his arms wrapping around his waist. “I’d love to, but I think we’d be cutting it too close. But after the banquet, we’re at loose ends until tomorrow evening so---”

“Oh I mean,” Yuuri says as he looks at him. “I meant this. Not sex. I’m still a little too tired, and I have to skate one more time.”

Victor smiles and kisses his nose. Yuuri’s cheeks turn pink. “How about a movie in bed then?”

“That sounds nice,” Yuuri replies.

Victor takes him by the hand, fluffs and props up the pillows, and they have a good natured argument over what to watch. Their tastes tend to be fairly different, but Yuuri is more easy going about what he’ll enjoy than Victor so they settle on a movie from Hollywood’s Golden Age about a princess who runs away from her responsibilities and befriends a journalist in Rome.

It’s a sweet movie, funny and romantic, and Yuuri lays half on Victor as they watch Audrey Hepburn’s escapades. Yuuri wonders what it’s like to ride a moped since he never has. Maybe if he makes it to the final in Barcelona, they can rent one for a day.

The movie ends when Yuuri needs to get ready, and they put on their coach and skater uniforms. They head back to the arena and Yuuri skates “Stay Close to Me” for a full house. When he’s finished, Victor embraces him and kisses his cheek. 

Yuuri smiles brighter than he did on the podium.

_\-----_

The banquet comes and goes, Yuuri once again having to corral a drunk Victor---though this time, he’s drunk from celebration and not pain. Yuuri saw Yakov pull him aside for a while as he chatted with Phichit and Leo, and when Victor returned, he was glowing.

Still, one person killing two bottles of champagne is a lot, and Yuuri barely manages to get Victor back to their room before his actions escalate from _forward for being in public_ to _they show this on pay channels after ten pm in the US_.

This time Yuuri doesn’t refuse his advances, and it’s late before they sleep. It’s also late when they awaken, it’s late when they get room service breakfast, and it’s late afternoon when they finally stop touching each other long enough to remember they have friends to see and make themselves presentable human beings.

Victor is meeting Chris in the hotel lounge, Yuuri meeting Phichit in the dim sum restaurant, and when they reach the lobby, they part ways with Victor kissing Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri enters the restaurant and sees Phichit is already seated, so he plops down across from him. “Hi.”

Phichit stares at his phone. “Hey.” After a few seconds, he looks up with a bright smile. He sets his phone face-down on the table. He focuses on Yuuri like he’s scanning him to make sure he’s not an evil clone. Yuuri squirms under the scrutiny.

The server comes, Phichit ordering them a pot of chrysanthemum tea. He doesn’t take his eyes off Yuuri.

Yuuri makes a noise between a groan and a sigh. “What?”

Phichit leans his face on his hand. His eyes turn affectionate. “All these months you’ve mentioned romancing Victor, and yet you still held out on me. It’s a shame. We could have had it all.”

Yuuri squints. “What?”

Phichit slaps the table. “Yuuri! Why didn’t you tell me how deeply in love both of you are? I thought we were friends!”

Yuuri’s face flushes to the tips of his ears. He half-smiles. “Oh. Well...I didn’t know until the morning of the short program.”

Phichit blinks. “You didn’t know? How could you not know? Don’t you see how he looks at you?”

Yuuri shugs, and a cart is wheeled to their table. Phichit picks four steel containers of different dumplings. Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “You weren’t exaggerating about eating your weight in these, were you?”

“I won, I can do what I want,” Phichit says with a smirk as he bites into a xiao long bao.

Yuuri eats a dumpling he doesn’t know the name of. It’s good, he thinks as he swallows. “To answer your question, I saw the looks, but I didn’t know how to ask for what they mean. So I just left it.”

Phichit eats another dumpling. He looks thoughtful as he chews. “Couple things. The first being once again I have to inform you that you need to use your words sometimes.”

Yuuri grumbles. “I know, I know.”

Phichit gives him a pointed look. “Do you? Do you really?”

Sighing, Yuuri nods. “Yes, I get it now.”

“Good,” Phichit says. “The second is that if I find someone who looks at me halfway how Victor looks at you, I’m proposing on the spot. It’s a done deal.”

Yuuri laughs. He sips his tea, eyes roving over the rest of the crowd in the restaurant. It’s business people mostly, though he recognizes some ice dancers and a few of the juniors’ competitors. The girl Georgi takes pictures with is here, but the guy she’s with certainly _isn’t_ Georgi, and he winces, realizing why his program is what it is.

“You love him too, you animal,” Phichit blurts with whimsy.

“Well,” Yuuri begins, though he realizes he doesn’t have a follow up. “I mean...it’s Victor.”

“It’s Victor,” Phichit agrees. They get more dumplings, some barbeque pork, and tripe. “Of all the men in the world, I should have somehow known the only one who can crack your ice cold heart is him.”

“I’m not ice cold,” Yuuri says, his voice turning petulant. It stings.

“You’ve never seen how you interact with people that aren’t me, have you?” Phichit asks.

Sighing, Yuuri eats for a few minutes, remembering his initial treatment of Minami the month before. “That’s not wrong, I guess, but I don’t mean to be. You know I don’t.”

“Yeah, but not everyone else does,” Phichit says with a shrug. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything, I just mean that of all the people in the world you’d likely end up with, I should have known somehow it’d be Victor. You’ve always been halfway in love with him.”

“I wasn’t---he was my hero,” Yuuri stammers.

“He’s every figure skater’s hero, Yuuri, but we don’t all wallpaper our rooms with him or incorporate elements from his skating style into our own,” Phichit points out. 

“It really wasn’t like that,” Yuuri says sounding small. It wasn’t...was it?

Phichit shrugs. “It’s not worth ruining our good time by arguing.” Phichit eats a few pieces of tripe. “So Chris is awesome. I’ve never had the same assignments as him before, so I’ve never gotten to see him skate live. He’s really talented.”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” Yuuri agrees. “He’s known Victor almost as long as he’s known me. They go back a long ways.”

Phichit looks interested but like he’s trying not to, which is unusual. “Hm. Does he always greet you by groping your ass?” He pauses. “Not that it isn’t worth groping, I mean…”

Yuuri laughs. “Yeah, sometimes that’s how he says hi. It’s a thing going back a few years. I almost decked him the first time, but now it’s funny.”

Phichit gives Yuuri a skeptical look. “If I hadn’t watched you shove Hannah, I wouldn’t believe you. Though you are pretty intense about your personal space.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “I even ran away from Victor at first when he’d get touchy. I bolted out of the room.”

“Wow,” Phichit says. They eat until everything’s gone, and Phichit leans back in his seat. “You know, I’m glad you didn’t hit Chris. He has a good face...it’d be a shame if you’d messed it up.”

Phichit appreciates the hotness of everyone he encounters, but Yuuri hears a difference in his tone about Chris. His eyes narrow, and he leans his chin on his hand. “Sure.”

Phichit is oblivious to Yuuri’s probing gaze. “I mean, he’s a good looking guy. I’d let him grope my ass without complaint, too.”

One of Yuuri’s eyebrows goes so high it almost becomes one with his hairline. “Uh huh.”

Now Phichit notices. “What?”

Yuuri licks his lips. “You’re into him, aren’t you?” His voice is completely deadpan, because he’s seen this before multiple times. The answer isn’t in doubt.

It’s hard to tell between the lighting in the restaurant and Phichit’s skin tone, but Yuuri sees the flush on his face. “No. Maybe. Yes.”

Yuuri buries his face in his hands and snickers. He does this for a while, feeling Phichit’s eyes focused on him. He knows Phichit will wait until he’s calmed down before bitching. With a sigh, he stops laughing. “He’s single,” he starts. “He’s single, but I don’t know if he’s looking. That’s a Victor question, honestly.” Yuuri thinks. “Well, I guess really it’s a _Chris_ question, but if you’re not ready to be that direct I can ask Victor and pass the info along.”

Phichit hms, mulling it over. “I think I can find out myself, but I appreciate the offer!”

“Sure,” Yuuri says. His phone buzzes---it’s a text from Victor.

 _Chris and I are still hanging out, come join us when you’re ready. Phichit too if he’d like_ followed by a string of blue hearts. Victor at some point decided that the blue heart is “their” emoji, and Yuuri smiles at his screen.

 _Okay, we’ll pay the check and head your way,_ Yuuri sends with his own blue heart at the end.

 _I love you, lapochka!_ followed by more blue hearts is the response. Yuuri doesn’t text him a second time, because Victor will make this go all night. “Speaking of the Chris, he and Victor are still in the lounge if you want to come with me and hang out.”

Phichit’s gray eyes light up like Yuuri just gave him a capybara army for his birthday. “Yes!”

Yuuri gestures to their server for the check, the two of them splitting the bill, and they head to the lounge. It’s dark and moody, a woman playing jazz in the corner on a piano, and Victor’s shot-silver hair is spotted in a round corner booth that seats four. Chris is across from him in a green sweater like malachite that brings out his coloring, and Yuuri can see in his peripheral vision how smitten Phichit is, his eyes bright and soft as they drink Chris in. 

“Hey,” Yuuri says, and Victor and Chris look up at them with smiles. They both slide to the middle of the booth, Yuuri sitting on the outside next to Victor and Phichit following suit with Chris. 

Victor passes Yuuri a drink list with a smile. “Here.”

Yuuri looks at it for a while, trying to suss out a decision. He never got into things like straight whiskey---it tastes like an assault with a crowbar every time he tries---but he finds a cocktail he had once in a fancy bar in the US called a Dark and Stormy, and he orders one. Phichit’s palate when it comes to liquor is a 180 from his so he gets a Suntory neat.

Chris eyes Phichit with appreciation. “That’s a surprise,” he says. “I would have pegged you to prefer something more delicate.”

Phichit grins cheekily at him. “I’m tough!” he says with a wink and a flex of one arm.

Their drinks arrive, Victor and Chris having also ordered refills: a vodka soda for Victor, something red in a martini glass for Chris. Victor shifts closer to Yuuri, placing his arm around his shoulders and Yuuri rests his hand on Victor’s thigh under the table. Phichit and Chris chat with each other while Yuuri and Victor quietly sip their beverages and observe. Phichit has his obvious infatuated glow Yuuri’s seen many times, but Chris’s eyes focus on his lips as he speaks, occasionally drifting back over the features of his face and sometimes dipping as low as his collarbone.

“Chris is a little taken with your friend, it seems,” Victor whispers to Yuuri.

Yuuri smiles at him. “It’s mutual.”

“Good,” Victor says with a grin. They stop gossiping and go back to watching love blossom more or less before their eyes. Phichit exchanges numbers with Chris, saying something about a Skype date because apparently Chris has never seen “The King and the Skater.”

Yuuri, of course, has all three films memorized at this point since he was Phichit-adjacent for three years. Chris doesn’t know what he’s in for. He turns to look at Victor, who is still focused on the sight before them. Victor senses the attention and turns to him with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, not having to---Yuuri reads the question in his eyes perfectly.

Yuuri leans forward and kisses him. Victor hums into it, his eyes sliding shut as he cups Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri is dimly aware of the sound of a photo being taken, and when they part, Chris and Phichit have matching looks of joy.

“Put a ring on it, Vitya,” Chris commands. Phichit cracks up, covering his mouth with a hand to stifle his laughter.

Victor (Vitya? Yuuri can’t help but wonder) laughs too, though it’s good natured. “Mind your own business, _cheri_ ,” he taunts.

Yuuri’s face and tips of his ears are bright red. He clears his throat, pushes up his glasses, and gets lost in a fantasy of himself and Victor in matching white suits exchanging vows, Phichit by his side and Chris by Victor’s. He grabs his drink and swallows it in one big gulp to hide his face. 

Victor asks Chris a question about his choreographer and why he isn’t present. Family emergency, Chris answers as Yuuri stares into his empty glass. Phichit gives the older skaters his rapt attention, Chris mostly of course, so no one notices that Yuuri needs to regain his composure.

When Victor finishes his drink, he tells Chris and Phichit they’re calling it a night. Phichit snorts into his whiskey and gives Yuuri the finger guns. 

“ _Tu pars pour une partie de jambes en l'air?_ ” Chris asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“ _Une dame ne raconte jamais_ ,” Victor responds with a wink. “Have a good night, you both.”

“Good night, Phichit,” Yuuri says. “Chris, you too. Talk to you soon.”

“We’ll all see each other again in Barcelona,” Phichit declares with a winning smile and the victory sign. “Yuuri, I’ll text you!”

Yuuri and Victor wave, Victor steering him back to their room with his hand on the small of Yuuri’s back. Once their door is latched, Yuuri turns to Victor, wrapping his arms around his neck. “What did Chris say just now?”

Victor snorts. “More or less he asked if we were going off to have sex.”

He should have known. Yuuri nods. “And your response?”

“I said to him that a lady never tells,” Victor answers. His hands creep up the back of Yuuri’s sweater to press against his bare skin.

“Ah,” Yuuri says. “Maybe we shouldn’t let him down. He’ll be sad if he finds out we didn't.”

Victor pretends to think it over. “You’re right. For Chris’s sake, we should have sex right now.”

“For the good of Chris,” Yuuri adds. “Anything to make him happy.”

“Yes, we’re truly selfless,” Victor answers as he presses a searing kiss to Yuuri’s mouth. “Always putting our friends first.”

Yuuri pulls Victor to the bed, yanking him down onto the mattress using his collar and dragging him into another kiss. 

Chris gets forgotten pretty quick. 

(Sorry, Chris.)

_\-----_

The flights back to Fukoka are uneventful in spite of a brief exchange of sniping because Victor wants to upgrade their seats. Yuuri wins because it doesn’t seem like a smart use of funds---he’d rather save the money for a nice date night or toys for Makkachin or both, he says, and when he does Victor lights up and concedes the argument.

They get to the baggage claim to collect their belongings, and as they do a group of high school girls bombard (there really is no other word for it) Yuuri for autographs and selfies. Yuuri kind of wants to get home to his family, but he smiles and gives them what they ask for in addition to thanking them for their support as Victor watches close by with a bright smile of his own. 

They notice Victor and some of them give him the same treatment, and after that they’re on their way to Hasetsu. The return trip isn’t terrible or long, really, but it feels like forever anyways as Yuuri looks at Instagram while they ride the train in companionable silence. 

Yuuri glances over at Victor’s phone, and he realizes at some point he’s changed his language from Russian to Japanese. His heart flutters as he smiles, and he decides that since Victor is making such a big effort he should return the favor. Yuuri makes a note to download a language app for Russian when he gets back on wifi.

They finally arrive at home, barely entering the door when a brown blur crashes into them, knocking them onto the ground in an unceremonious pile of limbs and torsos. “Makkachin!” Victor laughs with delight.

Makkachin has a wide, open grin on his face with his tail wagging a mile a minute, and he keeps prancing from one of them to the other, taking turns lavishing their faces with wet kisses. Yuuri’s hygiene mask is going in the trash after this, it’s utterly ruined. Makkachin finally settles down enough to let them up, and they straighten themselves out. 

Mari meanders up to them. “Hey, good job, little bro!”

“Thanks, Mari,” Yuuri says with a smile.

Victor grabs two of the bags. “I’ll put everything away, _lapochka_. Go greet your loved ones.”

“You sure?” Yuuri asks. He wants to talk to them as a family, but he feels bad about not helping Victor unpack.

“Yes, I can handle it all,” Victor says. “Go.” He waves with a smile and a wink.

Yuuri returns the smile. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

He hangs up his coat and scarf, takes off his shoes, and walks into the main lounge of the inn, sitting at a table with Mari---they managed get home during off-peak hours. His mom comes to him with a soft smile, warming his heart. “Yuuri, we’re so proud of you!”

“Thank you,” he says. He chews his bottom lip. “Do you and Dad have a moment? Can the four of us talk?”

His mom’s expression turns concerned, the smile losing its lustre. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he assures her. “But I need to talk to the three of you. I’ve been putting it off, and it can’t wait any longer.”

His mom nods, and she disappears for a second to gather his father. Mari gives Yuuri a look full of speculation. “What’s up?” she asks.

“It’s nothing bad,” Yuuri reiterates. “It’s just time for me to come clean about something important. That’s all.”

Mari’s eyes change a bit, like she knows what he’s going to discuss. She probably does since she’s known for months part of the truth about his relationship with Victor. He doesn’t think she has it all figured out, though, hence her inclusion.

His dad sits across from him, his mother to his right, and Yuuri looks at each family member in turn. He takes a deep breath. “So...since you watched the competition, I’m sure you saw Victor and I kiss---”

“Was it a kiss?” Dad asks thoughtfully. “It looked like a hug.”

“Dad, we’ve been over this,” Mari says with a somewhat frustrated sigh. “It was a kiss.”

“But Victor’s arm was in the way,” their dad continues. “Who could tell for sure?”

“I mean---” Yuuri interrupts with more than a little confusion. “I was involved. He kissed me. It was a kiss. It was a kiss on international television and web streaming sites. We kissed.”

“Well okay,” his dad says. “I’ll take your word for it.”

His mom smiles. “That’s very sweet of him, Yuuri. You must have made him quite happy to inspire such a gesture.”

Yuuri takes a moment to crack his knuckles on both hands. “Well...it wasn’t the first time.”

His parents raise their eyebrows. Mari gets a bit smug.

“Victor and I---” He gathers his thoughts. “He’s not just my coach. Or even a friend. He’s---we’re----” He considers his words a second time, but the phrase, “I love him,” comes rushing out before he decides on something less blunt.

Now Mari’s eyes widen with surprise. His parents look at him with similar expressions.

There’s a long silence.

“Well,” his dad says. “Does he love you?”

Yuuri’s face reddens as a shy smile fills his lips. “Yes. A lot.”

His mother melts, her eyes glimmering with joy and affection. “Oh, Yuuri,” is all she says.

Mari gives him a super fond look with her chin in her hands. “This is so cute. It’s like you’re Usagi and Seiya finally came into your life.”

Yuuri side-eyes her. “That’s not how you pronounce Mamoru.”

Mari immediately sours. “Mamoru wasn’t good enough for her. Seiya has always been the better partner.”

“Right, because she marries Seiya,” Yuuri says with a pointed glare. “Oh wait no, _she doesn’t_. She marries Tuxedo Mask because he’s her _soulmate_!”

Mari grumbles under her breath, her face darkening like a stormcloud. “It’s obvious to anyone who’s watched Stars that Seiya not only treats her better but has more chemistry with her! It’s right there in canon!”

“Are the two of you still having this argument?” their dad interjects before Yuuri can formulate a retort. His face is confused to the point of hilarity. “It’s been over thirteen years. Can’t you agree to disagree?”

Yuuri and Mari exchange looks, both of them sighing and gaining more peaceful expressions. “I’ll amend what I said,” Mari begins. “It’s like you’re Haruka, and you found your Michiru.”

Yuuri lights up. “I’m good with that!”

They shake on it, and then Mari pulls him into a hug. Their parents smile, Dad with relief and Mom with affection. Then she turns a bit serious. “Yuuri, can you fetch Vic-chan?”

Yuuri freezes as he’s concerned his family will give Victor the shovel talk like Minako keeps doing. “Um---”

“Just bring him,” she implores.

He can’t turn his mom down when she looks so eager. “Okay.” He gets up and heads to their bedroom, knocking once on the closed door.

Victor slides it open with Makkachin at his side. “Yuuri! What can I do for you?”

“Mom wants you,” Yuuri explains. He takes his hand and leads him to the table, Makkachin loping behind.

Victor sits on the side of him opposite his sister. He gives Yuuri’s parents a polite but curious expression. “Yes?”

Yuuri’s mom crosses the table and wraps Victor in a huge hug. Victor hugs her back, but his eyes dart to Yuuri with bafflement. When his mom pulls back enough to look at his face, she ruffles his hair and says, “Welcome to the family, Vic-chan.”

Victor’s face turns red, his eyes shimmering like tide pools as his mouth forms a huge grin. He gives Yuuri a look asking for confirmation like he can’t believe it, and Yuuri smiles at him as open as he’s capable. He nods.

Victor pulls Yuuri into the hug with them, and Mari and his dad join as well, turning them into a giant Katsuki family pile in the middle of their inn’s common room. It lasts long enough one of Yuuri’s feet goes numb and Makkachin wedges into the middle, but when they break apart he finds he misses the physical connection.

His parents and his sister head back to work, Mari messing up Yuuri’s hair as she goes, and without having to request it, his mom brings them both extra large katsudon bowls with a bottle of shochu to split. She smiles with love in her eyes and leaves them to eat.

Yuuri takes his first bite, heart overflowing with joy as his taste buds and belly are also fulfilled.


	8. A Breather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri makes a few enlightening discoveries.
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/36931902703/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I wrote this out in public goodbye cruel world shame what's that.
> 
> The drink Mari makes Yuuri is a Negroni, which is gin and Campari and if you are a lightweight it is a "ho don't do it" situation.
> 
> Victor is a very very good partner but Yuuri may be an even better one, I'll leave up to you all to decide.
> 
> Featuring Yuuri in the boyfriend jacket because who doesn't love Yuuri in the boyfriend jacket.
> 
> I have a friend who has an MFA as well as a Bachelor's in film, and I ran the movie choices for Yuuri's class by her. I'd heard of In the Realm of the Senses but didn't actually know what it was and wow okay that sure is a thing that is a movie! Everything Yuuri says about it is true, no fooling, what a crazy ride. Also if you're not sure, Martin Luther King Jr. really does show up towards the end of I Am Curious (Yellow). Why? I don't know. I don't think anyone really knows, to be honest. (Friend's verdict by the way is that while it's not common for these movies to be picked, it's not out of bounds or unrealistic and I don't like Woody Allen or Polanski so here we are.)
> 
> This is the dirtiest thing I've ever written. Like no holds barred, nothing else comes close. (I'm not sorry.)
> 
> Oh...the songs in the first scene are "Moonlight Serenade" by the Glenn Miller Orchestra, "Waltz for Koop" by Koop, and "The End of All Things" by Panic! at the Disco. 
> 
> I did previously mention Phichit is a bit of a TMI Fairy, I think. Here we go. Oh I forgot---the song he gets Yuuri with this time is "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee.
> 
> (Yes next time we meet Victor's mom. It's gonna be a good time!)

Five days after arriving home from Beijing, Victor has worked Yuuri like they’ll both drop dead if he doesn’t skate perfectly in Moscow. He sets a grueling pace and is far more stern than usual, though when Yuuri gets flirty during the opening of “Eros,” he can tell Victor is pretending to be indifferent instead of actually being such.

Yuuri has ended up in the private family-only bathtub more than once in water full of Epsom salts and essential oils. Victor will sit with him while he soaks, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Yuuri rests in the water until the muscle soreness downgrades from _dear God_ to _ah yes that’s about right_ , and then Victor puts him to bed. 

A recurring theme of these nights is Yuuri’s adamance that _no, he’s not too tired to have sex so stop babying him, Victor, God_ \---Victor usually gives in.

This morning is a rest day, or rather it would be were Victor’s alarm not going off so damn early. Yuuri awakens too, and Victor moves around their room in the darkness, picking out clothing and fixing his hair. He puts on a maroon scarf and an overcoat, and Yuuri furrows his brows. “Victor?”

“Go back to sleep,” Victor says with a gentle smile.

“Where are you going?” Yuuri asks.

Victor’s eyes twinkle. “That would spoil the surprise.”

Surprise? “What are you talking about?” Yuuri is wide awake now, because Victor is being secretive, and it’s weird. He also thinks he’s not a fan of Secretive Victor.

Victor sits next to him on the bed. He strokes Yuuri’s hair a few times. “You’ll like them. I promise.”

“But what are they?” Yuuri asks. 

Victor leans in and kisses him once, then again. He looks like he’s considering a third before he pulls himself away. “I’ll be gone until late afternoon. Don’t skate today. I’d prefer if you not run or dance as well, your body needs to recharge.”

“But---” Yuuri frowns, his voice giving out before he finishes his sentence. _But I wanted to spend the day together,_ he finishes in his head. Out loud he blurts an “I’ll miss you.”

He immediately winces. He sounds so needy.

Victor’s expression softens just as quickly. “You’ll be on my mind, _lapochka_.” He blows Yuuri a kiss and opens, then closes the door. 

Yuuri sits in their bed biting his bottom lip. He sighs, flopping onto his back with a groan. Makkachin seizes his opportunity and joins Yuuri, draping himself halfway onto his chest and whining at him with big brown eyes. Yuuri meets his stare. “Hey pupper.”

Makkachin whines again and snuggles closer. His tail thumps twice. He gives Yuuri a long look as if to say he misses his other dad, and Yuuri wraps his arms around him.

“I know,” Yuuri says. He squeezes his poodle. “I know, Makka.”

Makka licks his face. Yuuri attempts to go back to sleep, but he can’t. Normally when he’s sad he sleeps for way too long, but this time it’s not so much sadness as loneliness, and he is taken by surprise how much it affects him. He sits up, Makkachin protesting and moving off him. He puts on a pair of trackpants that should probably be washed and a t-shirt. It’s chilly in the mornings, and he needs a jacket, too. 

Instead of grabbing one of his Mizuno windbreakers, Yuuri opens Victor’s closet. He rifles through it for a garment towards the back, a red and white jacket from Victor’s last go in the Olympics. He pulls it on, zipping it up. The sleeves are comically too long, like he’s a kid in his dad’s shirt, and the hem hits much lower on him than it would Victor, but he can’t be bothered to care if he looks sloppy or not. 

Yuuri brings the sleeve cuff to his face, and it smells faintly like Victor. He breathes more deeply, the familiarity bringing him a measure of comfort. His heart aches a little less than it did a minute ago. “Come on, Makkachin.”

Makkachin perks up and follows him, Yuuri taking him on a walk around the Yu-Topia grounds. Makkachin sniffs everything that catches his fancy and does his business as only a dog can, and Yuuri watches him, occasionally looking up at the still-lightening sky. They finish and go back inside, Yuuri sitting with his head propped on his arms at a table in the lounge as he watches the local news. Makkachin lies next to him with his head in his lap. 

Yuuri’s phone rests next to his head. He sits like this for a while, Mari walking past him with a loud sigh. “Yuuri, he went to Saga. He didn’t go off to war, for God’s sake,” she snaps as she strolls by.

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t dial back his moping. It’s more satisfactory to wallow. He’s starting to get why his lover is so dramatic about everything---it’s rewarding in a way that a stiff upper lip isn’t. 

His mom takes pity on him and brings him a bowl of porridge. She pats his head twice and goes back to work. Yuuri more stirs it around than eats any, but his phone buzzes resulting in his small amount of interest in the food being killed. He almost spills everything and ruins Makkachin’s fur flailing to pick it up.

It’s Phichit, not Victor, and Yuuri tries to not be super let down.

 _Achievement unlocked: Skype sex with a hot Swiss blond,_ the text reads.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow while making a sound between a laugh and a groan. _Good to know, I guess._

 _You’re welcome!_ Phichit replies with the usual lack of self-awareness. 

Yuuri excuses himself and goes into the room he shares with Victor. He has no idea what time it is for Phichit, but since he’s texting it must be okay. He hits the button to Facetime him. Yuuri lies on his stomach on the bed with his head on his forearms as Phichit picks up. 

He definitely looks happy, Yuuri notes. He’s practically glowing. “Hey.”

“Hi!” Phichit says with a grin. “What’s going on? Are you calling for the juicy details?”

Yuuri makes a face like he just ate something sour. “Nope.”

“Aw,” Phichit says with a pout.

“I’m calling because I need help,” Yuuri says. 

“Sure, I’ll be...wait, what are you wearing?” Phichit squints at him. “Is that an FFKR jacket?”

“Russian Olympic Team,” Yuuri corrects.

“Are you defecting?” Phichit asks with a smile that can only be described as douchey. “Because the JSF will cry.”

“No,” Yuuri says. “Victor’s gone, and I put it on because of that.”

“Gone?” Phichit tilts his head to one side.

“He went to Saga for the day,” Yuuri says. “Something about a surprise or whatever.” Yuuri sighs and takes off his glasses, aiming his eyes down at the duvet.

The look on Phichit’s face is assessing for a while before it smooths out. “Aw Yuuri! You miss him that much for such a short time? That’s so cute!”

“It doesn’t feel cute,” Yuuri complains. “I don’t know...we haven’t really been apart before I don’t think, at least not since he moved here, and I sort of wanted us to spend today just the two of us. I can’t really be mad, though, since it sounds like he’s getting me a gift or something.”

“Awwwwww,” Phichit says a second time. His hand disappears as music plays. _I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh, I want to hold you high and steal your pain away. I keep your photograph, and I know it serves me well---I want to hold you high and steal your pain. ‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome, and I don’t feel right when you’ve gone away---_

Yuuri makes a loud offended noise as he hides behind his hands. “Oh my God. Stop. Stop or I’ll hang up.” Phichit holds up a lighter and sways to the music like he’s at a concert. Yuuri, in turn, wishes a plague upon his house. “Phichit, I swear---”

Phichit turns off the song. “Okay, okay.” 

Yuuri looks up. “I need to figure out a way to...stop dwelling.” Yuuri registers what he said and grows cold. “Oh no, I’ve never stopped dwelling in my entire life. I am the King of Dwelling. If you could medal at Dwelling, _I’d_ be the Living Legend instead of Victor.”

“Never fear,” Phichit says. “Your BFF to the rescue! Okay so first of all, you need a distraction. You should go skate!”

“I’m not allowed to,” Yuuri laments, because that is the most obvious choice. “He said no skating, running, or ballet. I’ve been pretty sore after our practice lately, and he wants me to relax.”

“Poo,” Phichit replies. “You always feel better when you skate your feelings.”

“I know,” Yuuri says. He considers doing it anyways.

“How about---” Phichit clucks his tongue. “Helping your family? Like cleaning up after the inn guests or doing the laundry or something. Or even just cleaning your room.”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, I should help out. They let me slack off since it’s GPF season, but I tend to feel bad about it.”

“Then there you go! I bet once you get started, Victor will be home before you know it!” Phichit grins with visible triumph. He reaches down and picks up something small and fluffy. Several of them---they’re his hamsters. Johnny, Stephane, and Evgeni crawl around the screen. 

“I miss those little guys,” Yuuri says with a small smile.

“They miss you too!” Phichit says with a wink.

Makkachin intrudes on their call, putting his face in front of Yuuri’s and sniffing at Phichit on the screen. He crawls next to Yuuri and rolls onto his back, four paws prone in the air. Yuuri chuckles and strokes his belly.

“Is that Victor’s dog?” Phichit asks. “What’s his name again...Makkachin?”

Yuuri realizes at some point he’s become _their_ dog and not _Victor’s_ in his thoughts, just like how it’s _their_ room and _their_ bed. He clears his throat. “Yes, you just met the famous Makkachin. He’s the best, by the way.”

Makkachin gives Yuuri a look like he understands and is grateful.

Yuuri sighs and stretches as best he can on his stomach. “Okay. I’m going to see if Mom needs help like you suggested.”

“Okay, Yuuri!” Phichit says with a wave. “I hope your day gets better.”

“Thanks.” Before he hangs up, Yuuri smiles. “I’m glad things are good with Chris.”

Phichit practically beams. “Yeah! Me too! Talk to you later!”

They hang up, and Yuuri pockets his phone and wanders into Yu-Topia’s kitchen. His mom is there preparing breakfasts for the overnight guests. “Can I help?” he asks.

She smiles at him. “Take these to the rooms, the tickets are on the trays,” she says.

Yuuri takes a tray at a time to the appropriate room numbers. When that’s done, he does the laundry so the day’s fresh check-ins will have clean linens. He picks up bowls and plates from the lounge, collects empty glasses, and before he knows it, it’s three in the afternoon. 

Phichit was right, and this is why Yuuri loves him so much. He’s about to thank him when he receives a text. 

It’s Victor.

 _Boarding my train, lapochka. I’ll be there soon!_ with ten blue hearts.

Yuuri smiles, his heart feeling like it might overflow. He types four possible messages, deleting all of them because they’re too corny or too needy or too sentimental. He finally settles on _Great! See you in a bit!_ with four hearts. 

Victor texts back the kanji for _aishteru_ with more hearts, and Yuuri almost drops his phone. He stares at it for about six solid minutes to make sure he hasn’t had a hallucination. 

Victor has a lot more knowledge of Japanese than Yuuri’s assumed. The fact that he didn’t text _daisuki_ instead is huge, for one thing. It means he’s not only learned the language, but he’s learning cultural nuances that classes don’t usually teach. He not only knows the difference between _daisuki_ and _aishteru_ , but he used the latter in a way third parties won’t be privy to as is culturally appropriate.

Not like Yuuri wasn’t already desperately in love, but now he’s nothing short of a lost cause. It’s hopeless, completely hopeless, and he almost can’t think straight because of his elation. The melancholy of being away from Victor all day is erased in that instant and Yuuri can’t hide his joy.

He returns to helping around the inn, losing track of time, and he enters the kitchen to bring back some dishes for cleaning when he sees that Victor stands at one of the burners. Yuuri freezes with an eyebrow cocked. “Victor?”

Victor shushes him with a wink. “Go. I’ll be done in ten minutes.”

Yuuri puts the dishes by the sink. “But---”

Mari grabs Yuuri by the shoulders and pushes him out. “You’re blowing your own surprise! Let him finish.”

It somehow only just occurs to Yuuri that his family is in on whatever Victor’s doing. “Okay, okay,” he says. “God.”

Yuuri grumbles to the lounge, sitting at a table and drumming his fingers on it. He’s a bit perturbed that Victor didn’t tell him he was home and that he shoved him out his own kitchen, but he’s also eager to see what he’s done. Especially since he hadn’t realized Victor knows how to cook.

A plate slides in front of him, and Yuuri blinks down at it. On it are four wrapped up crepe-things that are stuffed full of something he can’t see. There’s a bit of red jam on top. “What is this?”

Victor sits halfway behind him so his arm can wrap around his waist. “Remember when you asked me my favorite food?”

Yuuri remembers. “These are the blintzes?”

“Yes, _lapochka_ ,” Victor answers. “There aren’t stores that sell the ingredients for the filling here, so I had to go to Saga. I misread the train schedule so it took me longer than I anticipated, which I’m sorry for.”

Yuuri doesn’t look at Victor, but his face is a mixture of awe and love. Victor hands him a fork and knife, and Yuuri cuts into one of them, taking a small bite. His eyes light up, Victor watching him expectantly and, Yuuri notes, nervously. 

“To quote someone I know,” Yuuri says when he swallows. “ _Vkusno_!”

He hopes he didn’t butcher it too badly, but Victor beams like a sunrise. “Yuuri!” he says, wrapping him in a tight hug. He can’t move his arms and his glasses fall into his lap, but he doesn’t care because it’s Victor. When Victor pulls back, he gives Yuuri a look while Yuuri picks up his glasses and replaces them on his face.

Then he looks a second time. He holds Yuuri at arm’s length.

“That’s my jacket,” Victor says, his eyes focused on red letters R and U across Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri blushes. “Yeah, I...well…” He clutches the zipper. “I should have asked first, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Victor says, his voice husky. “Better than, actually.” He leans in so his lips are by Yuuri’s ear and drops his voice so no one else can hear him. “I kind of think you shouldn’t wear anything else from now on.”

Yuuri sounds out a small laugh. “You’ll get me sanctioned by the JSF.”

“Oh no,” Victor says. “Where only I can see. This shouldn’t be for anyone’s consumption but mine.”

Yuuri’s face heats even more. He tries to concentrate on eating with a loud clear of his throat. “Don’t do that here.”

“Do what?” Victor asks, his voice way too innocent.

“Be sexy, you jerk,” Yuuri grumbles between bites. The blintzes are amazing, easily one of the best things he’s ever tasted, and it’s not just because Victor made them with all his affection. It’s because Victor is genuinely a good cook, and the flavor combination of the slightly sweet cheese with the blintzes themselves is perfect.

“Nope,” Victor says in a pretty decent approximation of Yuuri’s accent when he speaks English. 

Yuuri sighs. He gives Victor a baleful look. It lasts exactly ten seconds, because Yuuri remembers how a few hours ago he was sad and lonely since Victor was gone. Victor’s expression is equal parts seductive and sweet, and Yuuri sighs, quickly kisses him by his lips, and finishes his dinner.

When every bite is gone, Victor pets his hair and clears his plate. Yuuri watches him go, he’s sure with a little bit of patheticness in his expression, and he drums his fingers on the table a second time. He gets up and pops his head into the kitchen. Victor’s finishing washing his plate and utensils. “Victor?”

“Hm?” Victor asks; his sleeves are rolled up, and he looks so cute Yuuri wonders how he got so lucky. 

Yuuri realizes his mom is in the room. He pauses, biting his bottom lip. Then he casts his eyes in the direction of their room, jerking his head that way too for emphasis. 

Victor nods with a smile. “Just another minute,” he says.

Yuuri nods. “Okay.” Yuuri heads to their room, closing the door most of the way behind him. He turns on the light and plops on the bed. Makkachin sits at his feet, and Yuuri pets him until Victor comes in, shutting the door all the way behind him. He sits next to Yuuri sideways. 

Yuuri faces him. He wants to say something, but he can’t come up with the words. Instead he takes Victor’s hands, entwining their fingers, and holds them. Victor looks down at their joined hands with a soft expression in his eyes, and Yuuri continues to search for the words. He finally manages an “I missed you today,” and congratulates himself with a mental pat on the back.

Victor looks up then. “I did too, honestly,” he admits. “I wished you had come with me, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“It was really nice,” Yuuri says. “I really liked them.”

“Anything for you,” Victor says. 

Yuuri gives him a curious look. “Anything? So if I say I want six more poodles, all in different colors of course…”

Victor hms. “Well, Makkachin might be displeased. I think he prefers being our only son.”

Yuuri swallows, his heart skipping at the word _our_. Victor feels that way, too, and it means everything even though it’s such a small detail. He swallows again, and on autopilot he kisses Victor. Victor laughs into the kiss, letting go of Yuuri’s hands so he can hold him close, Yuuri’s winding themselves into his hair. 

An idea strikes Yuuri, and he breaks the kiss, though Victor hilariously tries to follow his movements and almost falls over. Yuuri covers his mouth with his hand and snorts.

Victor fixes his posture and gives Yuuri a stern look. It’s a clear non-verbal _the hell, Yuuri_.

“Wait,” Yuuri says. He gets up and takes his phone out of the jacket pocket, putting it into Victor’s dock. He scrolls through his music until he selects one track in particular. Woodwinds and brass fill the room and Yuuri walks back to the bed, holding out a hand to Victor. Victor takes it with a slightly confused smile.

Yuuri positions their hands, placing his on Victor’s back so he can backseat lead. He begins to steer them around the room, Victor’s eyes focused on his as they do a simple waltz in time to the orchestra. 

“I don’t just know ballet,” Yuuri explains. “I’ve done ballroom, Latin, hip hop, and even took a pole class for a while.” 

Victor opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. “I see,” is what comes out as Yuuri spins them around again. Victor meets his gaze again, and it makes Yuuri want to blush, his eyes are so full of love. It’s the biggest look Victor’s ever given him, and Yuuri bites his bottom lip before clearing his throat and putting them into a more complicated box step. 

The song changes to a more upbeat jazzy number with an airy female vocalist, and Yuuri adjusts accordingly without breaking a sweat. Their bodies shift closer as the steps change, Yuuri keeping his eyes on his partner’s face. 

There’s something in Victor’s expression, something in addition to the love that Yuuri is a bit perplexed by. It’s borderline wistful, like he’s trapped in some kind of memory. Yuuri’s smile falters when he sees it, and he spins them around again. With a determined glint in his eyes, he takes a calculated risk and dips Victor in his arms.

Victor’s eyes widen. He’s back in the moment, completely present in the here and now. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri smiles down at him so hard his eyes wrinkle at the corners. “Hey.”

Victor’s smile becomes heart-shaped. “Hello.”

Yuuri leans down the scant distance and kisses him. Even though he isn’t a big guy, Yuuri has a decent amount of upper body strength, and it takes a while before holding Victor up causes a strain. Unfortunately instead of gracefully pulling them back up, Yuuri’s ankle twists and they both land on the floor with him pressed on top of Victor. 

Yuuri scrambles. “Oh---oh God, are you okay?”

Victor grabs him by the back of the neck and drags him down into a kiss. Yuuri makes an _mmph_ as Victor’s other hand grabs his ass, pulling them flush against each other.

The song changes again, and the next morning Yuuri sheepishly puts ointment on Victor’s road rash from the tatami mat.

_\----_

Time is running down before Rostelecom, but they still have about a week before they fly out. Victor worked Yuuri to the bone, as has been his wont, the Nishigoris asking Yuuri in hushed voices when he became a slave driver. 

Yuuri shrugged instead of answering. It was less complicated that way. 

After a long soak in the hot spring, Yuuri sits on their bed with his laptop open. He’s looking through some old documents because Phichit has the same professor for a class Yuuri took a couple of years ago, and he’s sending him an assignment---not to help him cheat but to show how he wrote about one particular aspect of the film he’s studying.

Victor’s jacket is on him but opened instead of zipped, and Yuuri yawns while he goes through his files on Google Drive. Then he finds the one he needs and shares it with Phichit, typing a quick _Here you go, I hope this helps! Pay close attention to the lighting in the murder sequences, that’s significant._

Victor sits next to him texting Chris---Yuuri tries to do the math in his head about what time it is in Zurich, but he can’t remember the difference to figure it out. It’s pretty late where they are, so maybe it’s early morning for Chris since he’s about to head to the Trophee de France. 

Yuuri would be nosy, but he doesn’t know French. Maybe when he’s better at Russian.

Yuuri sees another paper he wrote for the same class, the one about _I Am Curious (Yellow)_. He opens it and skims it, re-familiarizing himself with both the film and his academic writing. 

Victor puts his phone down to charge. He shifts close, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “What are you reading?” he asks.

“Stuff I wrote for a class I took,” Yuuri answers. He still doesn’t understand why the random American Civil Rights leader drives up to the female lead at the end of this film. “I had to fill an elective, and there was an introductory film class that was taught online. So I figured it’d fit well with skating and be fun and relatively easy.”

Victor perks up. “A film class! How exciting! Did you watch _Vertigo_? _Doctor Zhivago_?”

Yuuri sort-of laughs. “Ah, no, we did...different stuff than that.” 

Putting it mildly.

Victor hums. “More avant-garde?”

Yuuri’s head bobs from side to side. “A couple of them. Honestly, I think our syllabus was just so the professor could talk about her favorites. A friend of mine who was a film major said her choices were...not pedestrian. Apparently a lot of film teachers tend to all assign the same things.”

“What’d you watch?” Victor asks. His arms sneak around Yuuri’s waist. 

Yuuri hums, leaning back into his chest. “Well, one of them was this old science-fiction movie called _Barbarella_. That was...weird. And creepy in spots. There were these dolls with these awful metal teeth making this terrible sound, ugh.” Yuuri adjusts his glasses. “And she’s dressed like a skunk for a while. I don’t know. It was a wild ride.”

Victor laughs.

“We saw this horror movie called _Suspira_ ,” Yuuri continues. “That was pretty cool. Bloody, creative deaths. I found it kind of interesting since it’s about a ballet school. Although---”

“Although?” Victor gives Yuuri a cute look full of curiosity.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Well. I watched it alone in my room in the dark at one in the morning. And I---couldn’t sleep after.” He clears his throat again. “Phichit was really confused the next morning when his alarm went off, and there was a Yuurito in bed with him.”

Victor howls with laughter. “That’s adorable! Yuuri! So _kawaii_.”

“Oh shut up,” Yuuri grumbles as he elbows him in the ribs. “What else did we watch? Oh um… _Ai no Korida_ \---sorry, the English title is _In the Realm of the Senses_.” Yuuri swallows, clearing his throat for a different reason. “That...was also a ride.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that,” Victor says.

“Um, well, it’s still not allowed to be shown uncensored here,” Yuuri begins. “And it was initially banned outright in the US, I think.”

Victor’s eyes go wide. “Violent?”

“Ah, no,” Yuuri says. “You know how in movies the sex is fake?”

“Yeah,” Victor replies.

Yuuri’s cheeks flush at the memory of some of the scenes. “...Not that time, it wasn’t.”

Victor’s body straightens. “ _Really_?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “They actually did it on camera. Hence---” He gestures with a hand.

Victor makes a scandalized noise. “This was a _school assignment_?”

“More or less what I said,” Yuuri answers. It’s the truth. “It was...different. I was glad Phichit was out while I watched it---I was worried what he’d have thought if he’d been home. The walls were kind of thin in our apartment.”

Yuuri glances at Victor in his periphery, and he sees that Victor’s expression is pensive. “Because you were afraid of being judged for what you were watching or because the movie _affected_ you?”

Yuuri squeaks. “Er---” He cracks a couple of his knuckles. “Yes?”

Victor blinks a couple of times. “Which?”

His jaw grinds. “Both,” he grudgingly answers. He grinds his jaw again, then he admits, “I um...missed a few minutes.” Then he winces. “More than once.”

Victor’s shaking behind him. Yuuri closes his eyes and purses his lips.

“Go on. Get it out of your system.”

Victor openly laughs then, and Yuuri can’t help but have an annoyed smile. It is a _little_ funny in retrospect, even he has to admit.

Victor slowly calms down. “I’m not mocking you, if that’s what you think,” he explains. “It’s just very cute, and I would have probably had a similar conundrum.”

“Yeah well,” Yuuri says, though he has no point to make. “Whatever.”

Victor leans his face close. “ _Lapochka_ , I still haven’t gotten to watch you.”

Yuuri is about to ask what he means when he remembers. He swallows. “Er---”

Victor’s demeanor instantly changes. “If it’s not comfortable for you, I won’t bring it up anymore. I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

“You’re not,” Yuuri answers. He looks at Victor with his head on his hand. “I just...I guess I don’t see where the appeal is.”

Victor looks at him like he just called Makkachin a zebra. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Yuuri says. “I genuinely don’t get why you want to watch me do that.”

“Well,” Victor says. “It’s enjoyable watching you when we’re together, but I’m usually too busy or distracted to fully take it in. So I’d like an opportunity to watch you with no impediments.”

Yuuri’s eyes dart to the left, watching Makkachin exsanguinate a stuffed toy with the precision of a surgeon. He turns his gaze back to Victor without speaking. His expression is flattered but also a bit disbelieving, and he chews his bottom lip for a second.

Victor smiles. “I like looking at you a lot, in case you haven’t noticed. Even when I’m watching you do mundane things, it’s pleasurable. So what’s not to love about enjoying you enjoying yourself?”

Yuuri swallows and pushes up his glasses. “You’d really like it? It’d make you happy?”

“Only if you are enthusiastically willing,” Victor says with a serious expression. “I don’t want you to do it if it’s not comfortable for you or it’s unappealing. I’m not interested in disregarding a boundary or making you unhappy. I definitely don’t want you to feel awkward or anxious. I only want to if you do. I mean it.”

Yuuri places his hand on Victor’s cheek. He feels a lot better about the prospect now, but it’s still not something he’s completely sure of. “I’ll think about it,” he says, meaning it. 

Victor nods. “There’s another thing, too, if I may?”

Yuuri momentarily balks because he’s worried about what now, like Victor wants him to dress like a middle school girl or something. “Okay.”

Victor’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “Well...there’s times when you get a bit…” He hesitates. “Controlling.”

Yuuri’s brows furrow before he remembers ordering Victor not to take his eyes off him ever. “Yeah?”

Victor’s eyes drop down for a moment and his throat clears. 

Yuuri gets it. “Wait, you’re into that?”

“I did more or less jump you in a public restroom because of it,” Victor says with half of a smile. His tone is playful and light. “I mean, that entire program was bewitching, but...well, it was a lot due to that.” 

“You like it when I give you orders,” Yuuri says with a thoughtful tone.

“Yes,” Victor says. “So, if you’d be willing sometimes---”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Yuuri says with a grin. Hm. It’s a prospect he doesn’t find appalling. He’ll see.

Victor grins. He pulls Yuuri in tight and nuzzles his neck. Yuuri blushes and smiles, his face angled up towards the ceiling. “Oh---” Victor begins. “ _Mamen’ka_ will be in Moscow when we are. She’s asked to have dinner with us the night we arrive.”

Yuuri’s expression immediately changes from happy to wide-eyed, abject terror, like he’s tied to a railroad track while a train barrels down on him at 70 miles an hour. “What?”

“She’s dying to meet you,” Victor says. “If she could, she’d have probably hopped a plane here weeks ago. Between pictures, what I’ve told her, and the kiss in Beijing, she’s very excited and insistent!”

He pulls back to look at Yuuri then, and his face becomes mildly shocked. 

“Yuuri?”

“Oh God,” Yuuri says. “What if I over dress? What if I under dress? Or use the wrong fork, I’ve never been able to remember that, or I order something that I don’t like but can’t return or get rid of or finish, or I drink too much, or I don’t drink at all, and she thinks I’m some kind of priss or---”

“Yuuri.” Victor presses two fingers to his lips to shush him. “Breathe.”

Yuuri makes a strangled sound but doesn’t try to speak. 

“She already loves you,” Victor says. “She loves you because I love you, I adore you, and you make me happy. There is nothing you could do to make her feel differently because she wants me to be happy. She won’t disapprove of you. She won’t judge you. She really just wants to see you in person and talk face to face.” Victor’s face softens. “She wants to see you for herself, is all.”

Yuuri makes another garbled noise. It’s a bit on the panicky side, like a wounded gazelle being closed in on by cheetahs.

Victor drops his fingers and kisses him. “I promise, _lapochka_ , that she will eat out of your hand simply because you are yourself.”

Yuuri swallows and wrings his hands. Victor takes them, massaging them with a gentle touch. He does this for a while as Yuuri slowly calms, his brain becoming more rational and less anxious. 

He takes a deep breath, and looks Victor in the eye. They’re so blue and perfect. “Okay. We’ll do it.” 

Victor grins. “Yuuri!” He hugs him tight again, and his joy is infectious, so Yuuri hugs him back. They break apart and Victor showers Yuuri in kisses like he just won the Grand Prix Final, and Yuuri laughs into every single one. 

_\-----_

It takes Yuuri sixteen hours to come to a decision about Victor’s requests, but he can’t, he realizes, follow through with them the obvious---or easy---way. 

There’s another solution that he thinks of because Phichit bought him a GoPro for his last birthday, and if it works out, they can play a game at the same time. 

The issue is getting the time away from Victor to facilitate it. Coincidentally, his dad gives him the answer---he has to run an errand for the inn, and Victor offers to assist. It’s a far enough distance that they’ll be gone between two and three hours. 

Yuuri puts on the red and white jacket, slicks back his hair, does two shots of the Habiki they keep for guests, locks his door, and takes care of Victor’s gift. He uploads the file to a flash drive with nothing else on it, ties a little card to it with a ribbon that says “for my _koibito_ ,” and then puts his head on his desk to settle his nerves and wavers between hysterical laughter and anxious tears. 

He takes enough time that he knows Victor and his Dad have returned and probably eaten. Yuuri puts his glasses back on, though he doesn’t change his hair, cracks his neck, pockets the drive, and exits his room. 

Victor’s door is open since it’s going on late afternoon (they practiced until noon starting at five), but Yuuri detours to his sister. Mari gives him a raised eyebrow. 

“Can you make me a drink?” Yuuri asks. 

Mari’s eyebrow climbs higher. “It’s not even five.” 

“I know,” Yuuri says. “But...this once...I need a really stiff drink.” 

Mari’s brows form a worried crease. “Are you okay?” she asks in a low voice. 

“I’m fine, just nervous,” Yuuri says. He considers explaining for half a second before he becomes horrified at the idea. _I’m about to get down and dirty in a kink scene with my boyfriend for the first time, and I need liquid courage_ is probably not a good thing to say to one’s sister. “It’s---I can’t really give you more information than that. Can you please this one time make me a really stiff drink?” 

Mari hesitates. “You don’t really drink much, so I think I should just give you a glass of wine or something. I don’t want you getting sick.” 

“I’m going to sip on it for a while,” Yuuri says. “I won’t chug it. And it definitely has to be harder than wine or beer. Please, Mari. I’ll owe you a big one.” 

Her face turns contemplative. “Get me a ticket to the Final if you qualify and we’re square.” 

Oh that’s easy. “Done.” 

They shake on it, and Mari looks at what they have stocked. She shakes some red stuff, some clear stuff, and some other clear stuff together, then pours it over ice in a rocks glass for him. “Here. This is the hardest thing I can think of that you won’t hate.” 

Yuuri takes it with a grateful smile, and then has a small sip. It’s...not bad, but he definitely can’t drink it fast. There’s zero way he’ll be sober when he needs to be. “It’s fine.” 

“Whatever it is you’re doing, good luck,” Mari replies. 

“Thanks,” he says. He swallows, grabs the one of the newspapers they keep for guests barely registering it’s the International New York Times, and knocks on Victor’s open door. 

Victor’s on his laptop. “Hi, Yuuri,” he says with a brief glance. “I’m finalizing our flight info for Moscow.” 

Yuuri doesn’t speak, taking a long breath as he starts talking himself into the other part of this exercise. He reminds himself that he did it in Beijing, both before and during his short program. It was unintentional, but he did it. He did a little of it in the limo that one time, too. He can do this. 

Victor gives him a teasing look. “You’re sure I can’t book business?” 

Yuuri licks his lips. “Economy, Victor.” His voice comes out the way it did when he told Victor to never take his eyes off him. Good. Yeah, that’s good. 

Victor freezes, and then he really takes Yuuri in. His hair’s slicked back still, he knows his facial expression is probably intense, and he has the cocktail in his left hand, the paper in his right. Victor’s head tilts to one side and his eyes narrow in thought. “You’re not here to talk about travel arrangements,” he says. 

“That can wait, can’t it?” Yuuri says. It comes out more like an instruction softened with a bit of silk than a request. “There’s something more pressing I need you to deal with.” 

Yuuri closes the door, feeling Victor’s eyes on his back. He doesn’t have a shirt on under the jacket, and his pants are tighter than he usually wears---they’re black ones Phichit refused to let him leave the mall without citing that Yuuri would be locked away by the Hague for crimes against humanity since he’d be depriving the world of the way they cling to his ass. 

Yuuri conceded the point, hence here they are. He turns back around, and Victor’s eyes linger below his waist for slightly too long. He gives Yuuri another once over as Yuuri walks to him on his bed. He starts to close his laptop. “No, don’t. You need that.” 

Victor’s expression becomes intrigued. “Okay.” 

Yuuri sets down the paper to fish the drive out of his pocket. He slides it into Victor’s hand as he leans next to his ear and whispers, “To tap out, use the word ‘Salchow’.” He presses a light, lingering kiss to Victor’s cheek, and then grabs the newspaper and sits across the room on the couch. Yuuri opens the paper and begins to read it, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Yuuri---” Victor begins. 

“There’s only one file on it,” Yuuri says without acknowledging him further. “It’s twenty minutes. You need to watch the entire thing.” 

Yuuri folds the paper so he can hold it easier one handed. He spares Victor a glance out of the corner of his eye---Victor is staring at the flash drive. 

“Victor.” 

Yuuri sees him look up. 

“It took time and effort to make your gift,” Yuuri says. “Don’t make me feel unappreciated. I won’t like that.” 

It’s like that comment makes Victor fully realize what’s happening. He hears Victor’s sharp intake of breath as two and two make four in his head. “Of course, Yuuri,” he says, his voice a bit thin compared to normal. 

Yuuri really wants to look at him. He doesn’t. “That’s very good, Victor. You should start the movie now.” 

Victor appears to follow his instructions, because after slightly less than a minute Yuuri hears his own voice come out of the laptop’s speakers. Like most people, he can’t stand the way he sounds when recorded, but he manages to suppress the reflexive wince he’d normally make. 

_Hi, Victor. Um---this is the only way I think I can give you want you want, at least right now anyways. And this way, you can have it if I’m not around for a while. Better than just a memory, I suppose. So anyways, here. Hope it’s good._

It is very difficult to act like he doesn’t care about what’s happening, Yuuri realizes. He sips his drink and reads an editorial about the globalization of the economy, he does everything he can to keep his face neutral as he hears himself in the movie working himself into a state of arousal. Especially since he gives Victor a glance as stealthy as he can, and--- 

Well, okay. Yeah this was worth doing. 

Victor’s eyes are dark and glazed over, his mouth’s slightly open, his breathing’s heavy, and his hands are clenched on his thighs. And Yuuri made the video so he knows it hasn’t even really gotten started. 

“Yuuri---” Victor says, his voice a rasp. He doesn’t finish his train of thought, though because what he sees causes him to choke instead. 

Yuuri takes another sip--the drink is growing on him, becoming less of a sock to the jaw on its initial taste, borderline pleasant even. “Keep watching, Victor.” 

“Yes, Yuuri,” Victor stammers. 

Yuuri’s on the society pages, which he finds morbidly fascinating. Sixteen year old girls’ coming out dances, wealthy people getting engaged, wealthier people getting divorced, blind items about torrid life-ending affairs...he’s starting to get why Victor likes Gossip Girl so much. 

On the video, he hears himself make a specific noise that turns into a moan, and Yuuri gives a slight nod. It’s the part where he’s begun fingering himself, and he does a little countdown in his head until--- 

_It’s better when it’s you, Victor,_ he hears himself groan. _It’s always better when it’s you._

Victor makes a muffled cry. Yuuri gives him another look, and he sees Victor’s hand is pressed against the large tent in his pants. He starts to undo his fly. 

“No,” Yuuri says. “Just watch, that’s all you’re allowed to do.” 

Victor winces with obvious frustration. “Yuuri, please---” he begs. 

“Rules are rules,” Yuuri says as he returns to the paper. He’s not doing so hot in the achingly turned-on department either, but it’ll be worth it for both of them. He pretends to do the crossword. “Hm, what’s a seven letter word for ‘slow’?” 

His voice raises in pitch and volume in the movie for a second, and Victor makes an answering low whine. Probably when he found his prostate, Yuuri realizes. 

“Oh, ‘gradual’,” Yuuri continues. He looks at the clues. “It fits. How about that.” 

“Yuuri,” Victor says. His hands keep opening and closing like he doesn’t understand what to do with them. “Yuuri can I come over to you? I’ll bring the computer and keep watching.” 

“Hm,” Yuuri pretends to consider it. Any other time, yeah, but this is an exception. Though, it’s like a dagger to the heart. “No. You’ll stop paying attention. Before you ask, I won’t come to the bed either. Finish the video, and I promise you’ll get a reward.” He realizes something. “Oh, and Victor?” 

“Yes, Yuuri,” Victor replies. 

“You’re not allowed to come.”’ Yuuri reads the entertainment section. Hm that drama he’s seen all the billboards of everywhere is getting bad reviews. That’s unfortunate. “Do your best to not, I’m sure you have the willpower since you’re such a good athlete. Living Legend and all that.” 

“Yes, Yuuri,” Victor echoes, though his voice is strained in a much greater amount this time. 

“That’s good, Victor,” Yuuri says. He lets a note of pride into his words, and he hears Victor react to that as much as what he’s watching. 

Yuuri can tell from the audio that the video’s winding down. Good, because he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up, let alone Victor. He knows it’s what Victor wanted, and he’s surprisingly into it in a way that examining it makes him feel a bit uncomfortable, but he almost broke when Victor asked to join him on the couch. 

It probably will get easier if he does it again, but he’s sort of hoping Victor uses the safeword to stop things. Of course he doesn’t want Victor to have a legit issue--he’d feel terrible---but because he’s not sure either of them can take much more. 

Of course Yuuri can’t see the money shot, but he hears it between himself calling out for Victor through the computer and Victor’s response begging for him. 

Yuuri finishes his drink. It’s strong enough his head is quiet and his spine is loose. Victor stares at the probably dark screen. “Victor.” 

Victor looks at him. Yuuri returns his stare, and oh God he already looks wrecked. “Come here, please, and bring the lube and a condom.” 

The speed at which Victor complies would make him faster than Usain Bolt. He sits next to Yuuri and holds them out, looking for further instructions. 

“Take off your pants,” Yuuri says. “Underwear, too. Slowly, please.” 

Victor obliges, giving Yuuri a drawn out drag of the pants down his hips and letting gravity do the rest. He steps out of them, and then repeats with his briefs. His cock is almost purple from the blood flow, and the amount of fluid dripping from its tip is not at all insignificant. 

Yuuri gestures for Victor to move back a bit, and he sinks to his knees in front of him. He grabs the lubricant. “You’ve been very good so far. Would you like a reward?” 

“Yes,” Victor says. 

“Okay,” Yuuri replies. He grabs Victor by the hips and sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth. Victor, of course, barely restrains a scream as Yuuri takes him deeper, the tip brushing against the back of his throat. He manages to blindly coat his fingers in the lube, and he reaches around, running one over Victor’s entrance. 

The way Victor sounds and shakes a little, it’s not going to take a lot of actual effort, but that’s fine. It’s only the first part of his reward. Yuuri’s finger slides in up to the second knuckle, his tongue works Victor’s shaft, and he adds a second finger after a few moments. Victor’s begging in this complex mixture of all his languages, but since Yuuri knows two of them, he gets the gist. 

When he adds the third finger, he presses Victor’s prostate, he relaxes his throat, and like he flips a switch, Victor comes, his hands finding Yuuri’s hair and yanking on it like he’s playing tug of war. He feels Victor’s knees begin to give out as he pulls off, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand. 

“Try not to fall down,” Yuuri says. “Or at least don’t hurt yourself.” 

Victor controls the drop to his knees. His face is a sweaty mess, his skin is red like he’s sunburned---he’s an utter disaster, and Yuuri’s so in love. He’s so, so in love. 

“You’re not quite done,” Yuuri says. He gives him a kiss, and Victor clings to him like he’ll float away if he doesn’t. Yuuri undoes his pants, making a relieved sound into Victor’s mouth, shimmying out of them and his boxer briefs at the same time. He gets back onto the couch, and hands Victor the condom. “Be a good boy and put this on me.” 

Victor does, Yuuri seeing the slight trembling of his hands as he rolls it down his cock. 

Yuuri looks up at him with a small smile. “Okay. Get on.” 

“Facing you or the room?” Victor asks, and ouch, his voice sounds like hell. 

“Me,” Yuuri says. “I want to watch you like you watched me.” 

Victor pauses, closing his eyes for a second. Then he sits, straddling Yuuri’s bare lap, with one hand around the base of Yuuri’s cock as he inserts it, sinking an inch at a time. Yuuri’s face presses into the hollow of Victor’s throat, and he takes a second for them to both adjust. Victor makes a noise Yuuri’s never heard before, but it’s delicious. 

“Go ahead,” Yuuri says. 

Victor moves, riding Yuuri at a slower tempo than he anticipated. He digs his fingers into Yuuri’s shoulders, the pressure stinging even though the jacket. Victor’s an endless stream of incoherent noises, and since they’re pushed so close, Yuuri feels it when his cock begins to come back to life. He sucks a mark on Victor’s Adam’s apple, not caring if it makes a hickey since his family isn’t stupid and they likely know anyhow since they disappeared together in the middle of the day. 

Yuuri grips Victor’s thighs as Victor adjusts his movements, and the choked noise that comes out of him tells Yuuri he’s hit the sweet spot. It’s breaking character, but Yuuri smiles with a low laugh, the sounds bubbling out of his chest because it’s so good, it’s so much fun, and he’s so close already, but he can’t finish before Victor gets his second helping. 

Yuuri expedites it, grabbing Victor’s cock with his still-slick hand and stroking hard. Victor’s hips lose their rhythm, but Yuuri doesn’t care, can’t be bothered because it’s past the point where grace and elegance matter. Yuuri twists his wrist the way that never fails to work on Victor, and it still has a hundred percent success rate as Victor explodes, and it sets Yuuri off like a chain reaction, his vision whiting out and a shout muffled by Victor’s throat. 

He has no idea how long it takes, but he comes back down to Earth. And when he does, the surprise he’s given is actually a bit rude. “You sprayed come all over your jacket,” Yuuri says as he feels it seeping through the fabric and sticking to his chest. 

“Well, it is _mine_ ,” Victor counters with a cheerful laugh. 

“Yeah, that’s hilarious,” Yuuri says. “You’re dealing with the dry-cleaners. I’ve known the Fujikawas since I was a toddler. No way am I explaining this to them." 

“I can spot clean it,” Victor says as he keeps laughing. Yuuri rolls his eyes but the smile on his lips betrays him. 

“Can you get up?” Yuuri asks. 

After two botched attempts, Victor manages. He lands in a heap next to Yuuri on the sofa. Yuuri takes off, ties up, and throws out the used condom. He takes off the jacket, making a face because _yeugh_ , pulls his pants back on without his underwear, grabs a shirt from their laundry pile without checking whose it is, and presses a kiss to Victor’s hairline. 

“Don’t move,” he says with a soft voice. 

Victor nods. “I don’t think I could anyways.” 

Yuuri snerks, tip toeing out their room and to the kitchen. He grabs Victor a giant glass of water and one of his protein bars, just in case, and manages to get back to their room unseen. He kneels next to Victor. “Here, you need at least the water.” 

Victor takes it with a nod and drinks half the glass at once. He sighs when he finishes. 

Yuuri strokes his calf with one hand. “So...was that...did it...I didn’t screw it up, did I?” 

Victor finishes the water. “No. Not even remotely.” 

Yuuri smiles. “Really?” 

Victor slides onto the floor with him. “It was even better than I’d daydreamed about. The video is inspired.” 

Yuuri bites his bottom lip and flushes with pleasure. “Oh, I’m glad.” 

Victor holds his face in his hands, giving him a long kiss. Yuuri starts to laugh again. “I can’t handle this every day,” Victor says when they break apart. “I’d drop dead, I think.” 

“I don’t want to explain that,” Yuuri agrees. “What causes an athlete in his prime to die randomly? And then his lover who is also an athlete in his prime dies of humiliation rather than answering the question.” Yuuri buries his face in his hands. “God, our poor families.” 

Victor’s laughter echoes throughout the room. “What a scandal! Yakov would resurrect us just to kill us a second time.” 

Yuuri laughs, snorting a couple of times behind his hands. “Phichit. God, Phichit. Phichit will monologue about it every chance he gets. He’ll alternate between crying and cracking up at the, I assume, joint funeral.” 

Victor pauses. “Chris,” is all he says. 

“Oh no,” Yuuri says. “Oh no, no we can’t die like this. Because of _Chris_.” 

“He’ll think it’s some kind of challenge,” Victor continues. “For his sake, we have to limit this type of play. Otherwise, he’ll go out similarly, and everyone will think men’s figure skating is some kind of fatal sex ring.” Victor chortles. “Though I suppose Yurio would be happy. Less competition.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think happy is the word for what he’d think,” Yuuri says. “I’m pretty sure the word wouldn’t be fit for polite company.” 

“Lilia would probably put soap in his mouth, if she hasn’t already,” Victor agrees. 

Minako knows Lilia Baranovskaya. They’re old friends going back decades. She attended her wedding to Yakov. Yuuri’s heard enough stories to know Victor’s being sincere. “Yikes.” 

“Yes,” Victor says with a sage nod. He stretches, his arms rising above his head. “I think I’ve recovered, but I need to unwind a bit more. Would you like to join me in the hot spring?” 

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “Let’s have dinner after.” 

“Perfect,” Victor says. He makes himself decent enough to walk through the public areas of the inn, and they soak together, probably being more physically demonstrative than they should. 

Mari brings their food instead of Yuuri’s mom, and while it doesn’t spoil his good mood, he still chokes and darts his eyes away when she gives the two of them a knowing look and a wink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I can write Victor and Yuuri having sex without Chris getting brought up either before or after anymore. I wonder what that says about them. (And me.)
> 
> Also, I received more art: [the ballroom dancing with the Russia jacket, for your persual by Lai.](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/33891989860/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> I was also gifted a [lovely moodboard for the newspaper scene by ViktorBunny](https://lemonyoi.tumblr.com/post/164827839466/i-did-an-aesthetic-board-for-sinkingorswimmings).


	9. Moscow 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of the qualifier in Moscow. The trip starts well, but then an unexpected tragedy strikes.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37363592670/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we all know what the unexpected tragedy is. :C I'm sorry everyone, but in a fic that follows canon, as much as I would like to...I can't let the poodle escape unscathed.
> 
> There is not actual porn per se in this chapter, but there's stuff in the short program section that I'd say is definitely skirting the line of SFW and is incredibly super close. (Part of it is based off a piece of art by bigbigtruck, which is found here: http://bigbigtruck.tumblr.com/post/154556046935/bigbigtruck-do-your-best-welcome-back, hi thanks for the inspo EK <3333) 
> 
> VICTOR'S MOM EVERYONE what do you mean it's obvious I named her after Ensign Chekov from Star Trek it's not like that's my old fandom or anything get out you're imagining things. I made up a patronym for Victor because of his father's name in this fic so. It's a thing.
> 
> The Russian at the beginning of the scene at CDL (which is real and so is the menu!) is like...standard greetings and a more formal set of introductions since Yuuri is trying to be the good son-in-law and not make a bad impression. "Bozhe moi" is basically like the Russian "for shit's sake," or at least that type of sentiment anyhow. When Victor does the...thing...to Yuuri's dress shirt, he says "fuck this." "Khorosho" is okay. The Russian at the completion of dinner amounts to varying degrees of formal thank yous from Victor and Yuuri to Polina, and her response of more or less, don't worry about it. (I used google translate, so please by all means if something came out more garbled or incorrect, I welcome the corrections. I just ask you be polite!)
> 
> Also I do actually head canon that Victor (well and Yakov too) is Jewish. Hence my mention in Beijing that Victor sang a Hebrew lullaby to Yuuri. Beshert is Yiddish for soulmate, it's true. (It can be used like to talk about anything meant to be at all, I saw, but how I understand the primary usage is to refer to like...your one true love.)
> 
> I know in reality five of these men are grown ass adults who take their job incredibly seriously, but I couldn't help making the men's practice sequence a, to quote a friend, "beautiful shitshow." Also I've dialed JJ up to eleven. Decisions were made. No going back.
> 
> The Italian is "Good luck to you too!" The Japanese after Victor and JJ speak backstage is Victor asking if Yuuri is okay, Yuuri responding yeah but uh what about you, and Victor explaining he dislikes competitors who treat their cohort like they're nothing.
> 
> The Beyonce song is Naughty Girl. Victor did it, and when Yuuri realized it, he left it. (They're trash. I love them, but lowkey they're trash.) There is also a 90s grunge rock reference which is really obvious but I couldn't resist.
> 
> Also---there's a lot of Phichit being Number One Super Guy to Yuuri. Yuuri returns the favor a bit here.
> 
> Oh---one more thing. Someone has a sweet little crush on the Spicy Katsudon who isn't Victor. If you're concerned, since it's obvious when it comes up, it's 100% not going to be reciprocated in this story for a host of reasons, the main one being yeah I'm not gonna break up the main OTP and also the age difference. It makes the character's actions in the show make a little more sense to me, TBH.

The Korean Air flight to Moscow has a stop in Seoul, and Yuuri and Victor seize the opportunity to stretch, eat, and regroup before the completion of their journey.  Their arrival is at 4:50 PM local time, and from there they have to clean up and immediately head to dinner with Doctor Nikiforova. 

Yuuri does everything humanly possible to not scream the entire flight. Victor has reassured him no less than ninety-two times that his mother will love him no matter what, and yet he can’t help but imagine spilling red wine on her white clothing or insulting her politics. He has a momentary panic when he realizes he isn’t sure if Victor or his parents have any kind of religious preferences, and now he wants to open the emergency hatch of the plane and drop to a messy death because what if he says something offensive.

Victor seems mostly unaware as he listens to music and reads a magazine in Russian on his phone. He sees something and snorts a humorless laugh. Yuuri turns to him with a curious expression. Victor pauses his music. “There’s an article about us,” Victor explains.

Yuuri’s face becomes a mixture of unnerved and baffled. A Russian publication is talking about _him_? Why? “Is it nice?”

Victor gives his answer some thought. “Not quite. Grossly misinformed, hence my reaction.”

Yuuri’s mouth twists.

Victor gives him a look with his left eyebrow raised. “Apparently, you’re trading sexual favors for my coaching instead of competing. That’s the whole reason, at least according to this so-called investigative reporter, for why I took the year off.”

Yuuri’s expression has to be amazing because Victor bursts into hysterics. 

“Yeah, ha,” Yuuri says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Hmph.”

“Don’t worry,” Victor says. “I’ll write the editor a strongly worded rebuttal. I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I would coach you for any other reason than your skill and potential. That’s incredibly insulting to both of us.”

He’s not wrong. Yuuri nods as he looks out the plane window at the clouds. The sky becomes gray as they get closer to their destination. “Maybe we should be more discreet at Rostelecom.”

Victor makes a noise. “What?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t like this idea much myself. But maybe instead of how we were joined at the hip in Beijing, we should...be more subtle.”

It takes a while for Yuuri to realize Victor hasn’t replied. He gives him a look---Victor’s deep in thought, his index finger pressed to his lips. “Actually...that isn’t such a bad idea, but maybe we should be more nuanced than that.”

Yuuri asks a silent question with his eyes.

Victor gives their situation more consideration. “They’re going to expect _something_ from us,” he explains. “Otherwise if we give them nothing, it’ll cause even worse gossip like a dramatic break up. But if we give our public interactions some extra consideration, we can maybe turn things to our advantage.”

Nodding, Yuuri gestures for Victor continue, because, after all, Victor is the one who is more versed in feeding a public image and playing to the press.

“My Russian fanbase…” Victor says. “I may overshadow you because of them, and I don’t want that either. So I think I’ll limit how I approach my normal physical affection with gestures that clarify that you’re the one I’m supporting and not the other way around. If I get asked too much about myself, I’ll steer them back to you, of course.” Victor smiles, but the expression in his eyes is both bitter and sad. “ _Lapochka_ , I don’t want anyone implying that you’re not winning cleanly or fairly. I don’t want people assuming the worst is in you, because you are...just so good. I’ll do what I can to put this to rest.”

Yuuri slides a hand under Victor’s, arranging his fingers so they fit in between his lover’s. He sighs and sinks down in his seat. Victor raises his hand to his mouth and kisses each knuckle in turn. Yuuri can’t help but smile, his eyes filling with soft affection.

The pilot tells them they have begun the descent into Sheremetyevo, which Victor chuckles and corrects Yuuri’s pronunciation of every time, and they land, go through customs and immigration (Victor essentially waltzes through but Yuuri’s visa paperwork receives, he feels, overzealous scrutiny), get their luggage, and as they head to the ground transportation exits they are besieged with reporters and paparazzi. 

Yuuri groans and Victor barely restrains himself from making a sour expression. His sunglasses manage to disguise the irritation in his eyes that clears immediately for his public persona’s smile. The reporters shout at them in Russian and while Yuuri has been practicing, his knowledge of the language isn’t nearly up to snuff. Victor says something with that blinding smile as he seems to politely ask them to clear a path. 

Once every now and then Victor answers a question, but generally he ignores them and Yuuri follows his lead. The lack of response isn’t a snub---so much is getting shouted at once, Victor likely can’t tell what’s being asked and is responding to the questions he can actually comprehend. A driver is ahead with a sign that says Nikiforov/Katsuki, and Victor leads Yuuri to him. 

The driver greets them in Russian, taking several of their bags. “Come,” Victor instructs, and Yuuri follows him once more as the driver leads them to a black town car with heavily tinted windows. 

Yuuri makes an audible noise of relief, and Victor chuckles. The luggage is stowed in the trunk, and the driver seals them in, walking around to his seat. They’re booked at the Star Hotel with all of the other competitors, and the driver merges into traffic, quickly taking them to their destination. 

Fortunately at their destination there's no press in sight as they check in. They’re left alone as they take their belongings up to their room, and Yuuri is happy to ditch his heavy coat and scarf. He sits while Victor does his apres-flight skincare routine, emerging from the en suite fresh as a daisy. 

“We have a bit before we need to shower and change,” Victor says, “I’ll go down and get a coffee, want to join?”

“Yeah, I need to walk and stretch a bit more,” Yuuri says. He realizes he looks sloppy in his gray hoodie and messy airplane hair, but he can’t be bothered to concern himself with that. They hop in a lift after they each pocket a card key, and they walk to the hotel coffee shop. Victor gets a medium drip coffee with sugar and no cream. 

Half a dozen voices start shouting for Victor. Yuuri cringes, and Victor spits “ _Bozhe moi_ ,” under his breath. They look at each other.

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” Yuuri says. “You should handle this.”

“Yes, that would likely be the safest bet,” Victor says. He kisses Yuuri on the cheek. “I’ll join you as soon as possible, _lapochka_. Go ahead and get ready.”

Yuuri gives him a peck in return. “ _Khorosho_.” He heads to the elevator bank, pressing the up button and waiting. All of them are busy and rather far above the lobby, and Yuuri shifts from one foot to another.

A man stands next to him with a duffle bag, and Yuuri glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Then he recognizes him: Lee Seung Gil, the Korean competitor. Yuuri doesn’t really know him---more knows him by proxy since Phichit is a maniac who knows everyone---and he sighs as he realizes how not friendly he is with the other skaters here like he was at the Cup of China. The closest people who count are Sara Crispino, though her brother gets in the way, and he thinks perhaps Yuri Plisetsky.

An elevator arrives, the door opens, and...oh for God’s sake.

The Crispino siblings share it with the young Czech skater Emil Nekola. Mickey shouts at Emil, Sara tries to defuse things, Emil makes sexual advances on _both brother and sister_ , and Yuuri stares, blinks, and takes two steps backwards.

Sara makes eye contact with her striking violet irises. “Hi, Yuuri!” she says with a warm voice. “Hi, Seung Gil!”

Yuuri smiles but before he can return the greeting, Mickey gets mad at Sara, and Seung Gil snubs her invitation to hang out. Now Sara raises her voice from the perceived slight, and Yuuri judiciously nopes the hell out.

He scuttles to another lift that sounded an arrival chime, and he sneaks into it while all the rest of them act like an angry resentful family at the reading of a wealthy dead patriarch’s will. He selects his floor and as the door closes, a foot props it open. 

The foot wears a leopard print sneaker.

Yuuri’s eyes widen. Sure enough, its wearer is the one and only Yuri Plisetsky. “Yurio!” 

Yuri gives him a withering stare as he steps onto the elevator, invading his personal space and selecting the floor below Yuuri and Victor’s. 

“Hi,” Yuuri greets with a smile.

“Katsudon,” Yuri replies in a neutral tone.

It’s what Yuuri expected, so he kind of moves his eyes back to the seal in the door when it closes. They begin their ascent. “Well...good luck to both of us in the Rostelecom Cup.”

Yuri makes a disgusted sound. “I’m going to crush you, and Victor will have to stay in Russia.”

Yuuri smiles. “I missed you, too,” he quips.

Yuri makes a bizarre face. He sighs and stretches his arms in front of him then cracks his knuckles. There’s a short conversational lull before all of a sudden he asks, “What was with that kiss?”

“Hm?” Yuuri responds. He gives Yuri a look out of his periphery. “What kiss?”

“That kiss in China when you did your free program,” Yuri specifies. “What _was_ that?”

A hideous thought dawns on Yuuri, and he feels some of the blood drain from his face. He understands what that looks like to Yurio in light of Victor’s arrival in Hasetsu and the outcome of Hot Springs on Ice. “Okay, so...please believe me when I tell you that nothing happened until well after you left Hasetsu. Hot Springs on Ice wasn’t rigged, I didn’t...I didn’t _cheat_. I swear I didn’t. Nothing happened between us until June.”

Yuri looks at Yuuri, and his expression is complex, impossible to discern. “You’re an actual thing? The two of you are an actual _thing_?”

“We’re in love,” Yuuri says with an ocean of feeling, his words coming out soft and light like clouds. 

His eyes narrow like Yuuri threatened to punch him. “You’re in love,” he echoes in a monotone.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says with a smile. “We are.”

Yuri’s expression flickers in a way that Yuuri once again isn’t sure he can understand. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on him, he doesn’t think, but somehow it’s familiar---

Wait. 

It’s the expression he had under the waterfall. It’s that vulnerable side he’s only seen in one particular instance, but why would Yurio have it now? Is there some kind of problem with his romance with Victor? 

Maybe Yuri really does hate him that much to disapprove so strongly of their relationship.

Yuri swallows and just like that his face changes, the vulnerability replaced by a stony calm counter to his normal fits of belligerence. “He treats you right, yeah?” he asks, somehow both diffident and threatening.

Why is he asking this, Yuuri wonders. He knows Victor better, they were rink mates for years...shouldn’t his concern be for him? “Yes,” he says. “I’ve never been happier.” 

Yuri winces so quickly Yuuri thinks he was mistaken. “Better be,” he says. “Or else.”

The door opens on Yuri’s floor, and he flounces off the lift without looking back, leaving Yuuri dumbfounded in his wake. The doors close, and the short trip up the single level to the ninth floor finishes, Yuuri exiting and walking to their room. He closes the door behind him and gets in the shower to rejuvenate as well as refresh.

When he steps out with a towel around his hips, he walks into the bedroom area to see Victor plugging his phone into a charger and gathering his clothes for their dinner date with his mother. She’s meeting them at a restaurant that has catered to presidents and royalty, and Yuuri tries not to run shrieking into the night.

Again.

“Shower’s free,” he manages to say instead. 

Victor looks at him, eyes drifting over some missed water droplets on his chest. He bites his bottom lip for a moment. “If only we had more time,” he says, his voice wistful.

Yuuri furrows his brows. They have plenty of time before they need to leave to get ready.

Victor sighs. “You’re always akin to a siren temptress,” he elaborates with a fiery smolder in his eyes. “But we don’t have time for me to ravish you.”

Yuuri’s face turns red. “Cool your jets,” he chastises with a laugh. It’s so comical… _ravish him_? Really? Is he dating some rogue swashbuckler from a romance novel?

Victor gives him a bright smile. “You ask the impossible, Yuuri.” He stands and gives Yuuri a kiss on the side of his temple with a bit damp hair getting in his mouth. “Mamen’ka hates it when people are late. Perhaps upon our return.”

Yuuri gives him a look somewhere between fond and exasperated. “If you play your cards right.”

Victor kisses him a second time then excuses himself. Yuuri checks his phone. There’s a few texts from Phichit, and in every single one he is descending into the gaping, drooling maw of insanity. 

_Oh God oh God oh God Chris is in the GPF and so is that Otabek Altin dude and you’re going to make it and probably so will kindergarten Yuri and JJ and oh God oh God what if I don’t_

_Oh God oh God I’m at practice but I need to hit up the Emergency Vodka Stash because oh God oh God oh God_

_Oh God oh God oh God I need to make it in, Thailand is praying for me oh God oh God_

Wow. 

Okay.

 _First: breathe_ Yuuri types and hits send.

_Second: you will make it in. I have to finish relatively high in order to make it. Your odds are better than mine since you got a gold while I got silver. JJ and Yurio will probably make it in, you’re right, but you have a better chance than me. So don’t sweat this yet._

_Third: Come on, you’re amazing, and you really made Shall We Skate yours in a way no one else ever has. Your country has lots of pride and faith in you no matter what. You’re beloved there, a National Treasure. Worry when you have to, not before._

The irony is not lost on Yuuri for that last comment. Phicht can do as he says and not as he does, this is fine. Everything’s fine. It’s all fine. 

Yuuri puts on the outfit Victor helped him select when they went to a larger town with a UNIQLO: slim black trousers, a black and white gingham-patterned shirt, and a black sweater over it. 

Victor asked him why he hates colors, and Yuuri didn’t get what he meant. Still kind of doesn’t. His skating costumes are all shades of the rainbow. Obviously he doesn’t hate them.

Yuuri brushes his hair back, then lets it fall in his face. He repeats the motions four times before he settles on wearing his hair like he does day-to-day as opposed to on the ice. His fringe is slightly long, at least compared to normal. He always knew his hair grows relatively fast, but he didn’t know it’s like this. It’ll be very noticeable in Barcelona should he gain a place in the final.

Yuuri looks at his neck above his shirt collar to make sure there aren’t any visible hickeys or teeth imprints. Victor’s pretty careful right before and during competitions, but he still wants to double-check to play things safe. Sure, his mom likely realizes they have a physical side to their relationship in addition to the professional and romantic ones, but he thinks it might be gauche to flaunt it on their first meeting.

The water shuts off, and a minute later the hair dryer switches on. Yuuri turns to the sound of the hot air behind the closed bathroom door. He considers knocking and maybe hugging Victor to quell his nerves when his phone signals a text message.

Yuuri picks up the blue poodle case. It’s Phichit.

_I’m cool. What’s cooler than being cool? Ice cold!_

Yuuri laughs. _Better?_

 _Yeah, thanks. Chris helped too._

Yuuri can’t stop the soft smile he gets in response. _Good. I’m glad._

 _He says “bonne chance,” btw. He wants you to qualify really bad just like I do!_ Yuuri is about to respond when Phichit’s lightning fingers strike again. _He said if I ‘somehow’ (his words) don’t make it, he’ll fly me in anyways so we can spend time together. He’s also got a set of VIP passes to Art Basel and he’s asked me to be his plus one. It’s in June so it won’t interfere with training too much. Think I’m gonna spend three weeks there to eat a bunch of chocolate and pet a cat._

 _Is that a euphemism? Because I don’t need this info._ Yuuri replies.

 _Dude, that doesn’t even make sense. He’s a cis-male!_ Phichit adds an eye roll emoji. _But also: yes._

Yuuri walked into that. Sigh. _Jeez._

 _We have a lot of conversations,_ Phichit continues like Yuuri’s text doesn’t exist. _We seem to have a lot of common tastes._ Winky face emoji, eggplant emoji, sploosh emoji.

 _PHICHIT_ Yuuri replies. He follows it up with a text of five red X emoji.

Phichit’s returning volley is the cry-laughing emoji ten times. He follows it up with _You’re so easy._

Yuuri sighs. _Stop picking on me, I have to get ready to meet Victor’s mom._

Yuuri’s barely locked his phone when it rings. He doesn’t check the caller ID because it’s obvious who it is. He opens the conversation with a baleful sigh as he answers. “Hi Phichit.”

“Dish, girlfriend,” Phichit says in a decent imitation of RuPaul. He got really into Drag Race for a year and a half while they were roommates. It’s what inspired him to perfect winged eyeliner.

“There’s…” Yuuri sighs. “It’s dinner. She invited us to dinner since she’s in town, too.”

“What are you wearing?” Phichit asks, his tone full of boisterous joy.

“Black pants, black and white shirt, black sweater,” Yuuri rattles off as he debates slicking his hair back again.

“You know colors exist, right?” Phichit says with a sigh.

“Everyone loves to remind me of that,” Yuuri retorts. 

“Katsuki Yuuri: JSF certified, Japan’s Ace, Victor Nikiforov’s main squeeze, closet lowkey goth kid,” Phichit prattles with a snort.

Yuuri gives the phone a look dripping with disdain. “You know how I feel about the Cruxshadows and clove cigarettes.”

“You didn’t hate the absinthe that one time though,” Phichit adds.

“Wasn’t really into it, either,” Yuuri counters.

Victor steps out of the bathroom in a pair of charcoal slacks with a lavender-striped dress shirt and a purple and platinum sweater. Yuuri looks at him, his heart beating faster and his eyes filling with awe at how beautiful his man is. Victor smiles at him, and Yuuri doesn’t hear a word Phichit says. “Gotta go,” he declares unceremoniously and hangs up.

Phichit will give him an earful later. For now, who cares?

Victor adjusts the cuff of his shirt as it caught funny on the hem of his sweater sleeve. Yuuri enters his personal space, and Victor gives him a look with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

Yuuri means to say _you look so wonderful_ and instead what comes out is, “Good job on your face.”

Yuuri immediately buries his now-beet-red visage in his hands while Victor stifles his laughter. “I had little to do with it,” Victor can barely say without a snicker or twelve. “But thank you just the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Yuuri says, muffled and mildly dejected. Victor’s hands rest on his shoulders, and Yuuri looks up at him over his fingers under his glasses. He blinks a few times.

Victor’s smile is kind and sweet. He removes Yuuri’s hands from his face and then tilts his chin up. He bends down and kisses him like a swelling climax in a romantic film. Yuuri can feel the smoothness of Victor’s skin from a second shave that day against his own, and he wraps his arms around his back to hold him close. 

Victor breaks it and checks the time on his watch. “We should go.”

Yuuri wants to kiss more, but adulting comes first. “Okay.”

They grab coats and scarves, taking a lift downstairs. Victor has the concierge call them a car, and he instructs the driver to CDL. He holds Yuuri’s hand in the backseat, fingers entwined together with their perfect fit, and off they go into the Moscow traffic.

_\-----_

CDL is the kind of restaurant where a person checks their coat at the door under a glittering chandelier. The maitre’d informs them that the rest of their party has yet to arrive---they have a policy that none of them can be shown to their table until everyone is present, so they are pointed to a bar to wait until Victor’s mother joins them. They’re quite a bit early, though, so she isn’t really holding them up.

Yuuri immediately feels like the backwater hick the rest of Japan might perceive a Hasetsu native as, and he pulls on his shirt collar as Victor orders them flutes of champagne. He keeps cracking his knuckles over and over again until Victor grabs them. “Yuuri,” Victor says with a worried expression.

“This is fine,” Yuuri manages. “The events that are presently occurring are fine.”

Victor lets go to slide Yuuri some champagne. “Drink. It’ll soothe you.”

Yuuri takes a long sip, perhaps more than he should. He looks ahead and bites his bottom lip. Before he can say anything or drink more, a warm female voice says, “Vitya.”

Victor brightens, turning towards the sound: a woman stands before them with hair the same shade as Victor’s in up an elaborate twist, her warm eyes the same shape as his but the color of steel instead of the sea, and when she grins, her smile turns into a heart like his. Her features are rounder than Victor’s, though she has decently high cheekbones, and she is not that much shorter than him in her red-soled black heels. She wears a stylish but age appropriate suit in a dark charcoal silk wool that has been exquisitely tailored to her measurements, and aside from a bit of kohl around her eyes, her makeup is subtle enough Yuuri thinks she may not wear any.

Yuuri wants to hide. He feels like a six year old playing pretend.

“ _Mamen’ka, privyet!_ ” Victor exclaims with joy. They kiss each other on both cheeks as a greeting. He switches to English. “Was traffic bad?”

“No,” she says. “But I got held up at my conference. Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all,” Victor assures her. He gives Yuuri a look with a smile.

Yuuri stands, wiping his palms on his trousers. He swallows and bows his head. “ _Davajtye poznakomimsya._ ”

Doctor Nikiforova looks pleased, Victor beaming beside her with obvious pride. “ _Davatjye!_ ”

“ _Myenya zovut Katsuki Yuuri,_ ” he continues, though he winces when he realizes he mixed up the order of his name for proper Russian etiquette. 

“Polina Andreyevna Nikiforova,” she responds with a bright smile. “Your accent is quite good. My son is teaching you?”

“Ah---” Yuuri swallows, his throat suddenly not working the way it should. “I listen to podcasts when I run, but I often hear him speak to you on the phone. It helps me with the proper pronunciation, ma’am.”

She scoffs with a smile. “You can do better than to call me ma’am, I think. I insist you call me Polina.”

Yuuri nods. “Ah---yes, ma...Polina.” He favors her with a small bow.

She steps towards him and before he can inquire, she wraps him in a fierce hug. She smells like night-blooming jasmine, and her embrace feels as soft and kind as the ones his own Mom gives. She pulls back, holding him at arm’s length, and she favors Victor a disapproving look. “Do you allow him to eat? He’s rail thin, Vitya.”

Yuuri has never in his entire life heard anyone say such a thing about him, and thus KatsukiYuuri.exe screeches to an abrupt halt.

“Mamen’ka,” Victor replies with a sigh.

She gives her son a similar appraisal. “You’re too thin, as well. They _are_ feeding you both in Hasetsu?”

“ _Mamen’ka!_ ” Victor complains. “The Katsukis take excellent care of us! And I am not starving Yuuri as his coach!”

Polina looks disinclined to believe him. Instead of arguing further, she leads the way to the host stand. Yuuri follows along with Victor once he has their bar tab transferred, and they’re seated at a four-person table under an even grander crystal chandelier. The chairs are a salmon and gold damask, soft yet with such straight backs that Yuuri must sit primly, his normal good posture forced into something even Minako would nod at in stark approval. 

Yuuri stares at the enormous amount of silver at his place setting, along with the multiple glasses and pristine bone china plates. Celestino made him and Phichit take a six-hour etiquette course but...frankly, it’s all flown out of his head because of nerves.

A smartly dressed server comes to them, and Polina gives polite instructions with a kind smile in Russian. Yuuri can only catch the odd word as she’s speaking too quickly and his lessons haven’t reached restaurant vocabulary. It must show on his face, because Victor leans as close as he can given the size of the table. “She’s ordered us the set pre fixe with wine pairings and a caviar service to begin.”

Yuuri pushes up his glasses and nods. He hides his hands under the tablecloth so he doesn’t crack his knuckles again. He knows that’s unsightly and borderline rude, and he so dearly wants her to like him. He so dearly wants the welcome his family has given Victor, almost to the point of shock from the strength of his craving.

They are given flutes of chilled vodka, and Polina takes a sip of hers as their water glasses are filled. “Yuuri,” she begins, and he blinks, giving her his undivided attention. “Vitya has told me you went to university in the United States.”

“Ah yes,” Yuuri says. He takes a too big sip of the vodka. The caviar arrives then, and Yuuri (as subtly as he can pull off) watches Victor dress his rye crouton before he follows his lead and has his first taste. It’s a bit rich, but it’s wonderful. “I went to Wayne State, it’s in Detroit where my home rink was for the last five years.”

“What did you study?” she asks with an interested raise of a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

“I majored in Learning Technology and Design,” Yuuri says. “And minored in Dance.”

“I’m not familiar with that field,” Polina says with a sparkle of curiosity in her gaze. 

“Well,” Yuuri says as he tries to find the best explanation. “It’s essentially designing curricula and seminars to help the students learn as easily as possible. Um…” The English phrase he needs suddenly springs to mind. “It’s more or less majoring in user friendliness for educational purposes.”

Polina’s expression is deeply interested. She takes a bite of the caviar. “Like human factors psychology,” she says.

“In a way,” Yuuri replies. “Human factors is a bit less refined. You can design an iPhone interface, for example, with a human factors degree. My major concentrated on integrating technological solutions into modern classrooms, such as social media. It’s more...pared down.”

“What have you considered doing with that?” she asks.

Yuuri pauses. He hates that question. Even Phichit knows better than to ask these days. 

“Well, I’ve considered upon retiring from skating going back to school and rounding it out with an education degree.” Yuuri glances at Victor this time, and Victor looks both pleased and intrigued. He realizes that, somehow, it is the first he’s ever spoken of this to him. He smiles, and Victor reaches out to take his left hand. 

It then occurs to him she’s a highly sought-after surgeon and her husband is on the highest court in the land...he probably seems incredibly simple, he thinks with a wince. “Teaching is the noblest profession,” Polina says with a bright smile, and Yuuri might have lost ten pounds from exhaling his held, nervous breath. “I think that is a lovely aspiration.”

“Thank you, ma---Polina,” Yuuri stammers. The caviar course is cleared along with the empty vodka flutes, and they receive the wine pairing for their first course. It comes only a moment after---some sort of unidentifiable pate artistically arranged on a plate. They eat, and all Yuuri can tell is it’s made from a breed of poultry.

It’s delicious, which is really what matters in the grand scheme. 

“Yuuri,” Polina begins halfway into the course. She takes a sip of her wine. “What made you pursue figure skating? In Vitya’s case, we have a pond on our property, and he did it as a small child. It was an instant love affair and when he was around seven, a coach saw him at a rink and said he had a future in it. It’s worked out quite well for him---” She gives Victor a bright, loving, proud smile---”It’s also worked out quite well for you. I was curious as to your story.”

“Well, my older sister, Mari, took ballet lessons for a year or two before deciding it isn’t really for her,” Yuuri says. “The teacher is a childhood friend of our mother, um, Minako Okukawa? She actually won the Benois one season...anyways…” He clears his throat. “I was about four when I asked our mom and Minako if I could try dance. And I found it a lot of fun, still do since I minored in it. Well when I was six, Minako suggested I take up figure skating in addition and I adored it as much as dance, so I began to do both after school. I got talked into a competition at the Ice Castle a year or so later, and...I actually won my category.” He grimaces, feeling like a braggart. "I just kind of kept it going, and I got JSF certification and….” He pauses. “Here we are.”

“Yuuri’s had a marvelous career,” Victor chimes in with a bright grin. “He got to the Grand Prix Final last year under his previous coach! And he’s consistently won at his Nationals in addition to respectable showings at Worlds and Four Continents! It’s a privilege to coach him...he’s very skilled and has incredible potential!”

Yuuri stares at Victor in a combination of disbelief and naked affection. He recalls what Victor said around the start of their intimacy, that he’s moved by the music Yuuri can make with the flow of his body----but he’s never said this. Not where he can hear.

“Victor---” Yuuri says with love permeating the word.

Victor gives him a look full of affection in return. “I only speak the truth.”

Yuuri isn’t sure of that...his career is middling compared to Victor’s own storied history, but it’s flattering and kind, and he chooses to not sully the moment with an argument. 

They move onto the next course, which is a cabbage soup and some richly prepared duck that Yuuri likes better than the pate, followed by perch with grilled courgettes that is very well made but not his preference, beef cheeks with a rice “pudding” that at the end of the day is a porridge he considers suggesting his mother add a variation of to Yu-Topia’s menu, and finishing the meal with rye bread ice cream that would be weird if it wasn’t delicious, and he didn’t love black sesame so much.

The conversation is a bit languid over coffee, the heat having been taken off him around the beef course for mother and son to catch up. They use minimal Russian, perhaps due to Victor’s choice, so Yuuri is able to pipe in and follow along. 

They tell her of the night back in May Victor let him and Yuri off practice for a bonfire at the shore with the Nishigoris, where Takeshi had “acquired” multicolored sparklers, and how he snapped in-motion photos on his DSLR of them dancing and doing quad jumps in the sand. Yuuko joined them after a bit, though she only just mastered triples before the girls were conceived. Victor complimented her form more than once, pleasantly surprised at her elegance in spite of her self-described rustiness.

Polina requests the pictures, and Victor gladly promises to email them to her when he returns to Hasetsu.

They decide it’s time to depart, as they all have an early day the next morning. Before Yuuri can offer to cover his share, Polina gives them a wink. “I gave them my card information this afternoon,” she says. “I’ll have them run it in a moment.”

Victor grumbles. “Mamen’ka,” he complains. “At least allow me to cover half?”

“Absolutely not,” she scolds. “I insist on taking my only son and his _beshert_ out to dinner. Do not argue again, Victor Mikhailovich.”

Yuuri shrinks a little, giving Victor a worried look. While the expression in his eyes tells Yuuri he’s highly displeased, the rest of his face and posture indicates he knows he’s outmatched. He clears his throat. “ _Da, Mamen’ka. Spasiba._ ”

Yuuri turns back to her. “ _Da, bol'shoye spasiba. Ya iskrenne tsenyu vse_.”

“ _Priglashayu vas oboikh. S udovol'stviyem._ ” Polina shines like a star from her happiness. He sees, truly, where his love gets his usual joyous disposition.

Victor stands and pulls her chair out. Yuuri stands as well, and they walk to the coat check. They’re given their outerwear, and the hostess thanks them for their patronage. Polina is staying closer to the University where she is lecturing, so they are headed in opposite directions. 

First, she wraps Victor in her arms. She says something in Russian too quietly for Yuuri to catch, and Victor responds in that affectionate tone Yuuri knows now so well. They kiss on both cheeks, and she brushes his bangs out of his eyes.

Then it is Yuuri’s turn.

She wraps him in a warm hug, a bit taller than him thanks to her shoes, and he returns the gesture. “You take care of each other,” she says into his ear. “I see the love you share. I’m so happy Vitya found you...so please, continue to care for him.”

Yuuri’s vision blurs. He has to swallow three times before he can speak. “I promise. I’ll do the best I can.”

She pulls back and strokes his face. Her smile is sweet and luminous. “I know you will, Yura,” she says. She kisses his cheeks. “Have a good evening you two.” Her smile turns mischievous. “Don’t stay up too late---he has practice tomorrow.”

Yuuri’s brows furrow, but before he can ask Victor gives her a mildly scandalized, “Mamen’ka!”

Oh. Yuuri’s face turns scarlet.

“Bed at a reasonable hour, Vitya,” she calls as she gets in her hired car like Victor said nothing. “I’ll know! I’ll see it in his performance!”

“The practice isn’t public,” Victor complains. “And I’m his _coach_. Of course I’m not--- _Mamen’ka, pozhaluysta---_ ”

She gives him a saucy yet exasperated look that makes Yuuri contemplate running into traffic. “I am issuing a friendly bit of advice. Spoil your Yura tonight, but not _too_ much. He needs his energy for the weekend.”

Oh God. Yuuri buries his head in his hands, unsure of whether he should laugh, cry, or both.

The car door closes and off she goes. Victor makes a noise before wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Let’s head back,” he says.

Yuuri gives him a look, and he realizes he’s seeing an embarrassed Victor Nikiforov for the first time. He’s seen him a bit flustered and mildly bashful, but never this, the glassy disbelief, dark red flush, and frozen, strained set to his lips. He’d poke fun except he’s in the same boat. “She really just---”

“She really just,” Victor says after clearing his throat. The restaurant staff got them a town car, and the driver opens the door. Victor enters the back seat first, pulling Yuuri in by the hand. He tells the driver their hotel, and they take off down the road.

Yuuri wonders about something she said just before departing. “Why did your mom call me Yura? Is that like how I call Yuuko Yuu-chan?”

Victor hums. “Russian names can be a bit complicated if you’re not a native speaker, _lapochka_. It’s like how she---among others such as Yakov---call me Vitya, though she should have asked you first---” He frowns for a few moments, and Yuuri ponders if he’s going to scold her the next time they speak. “Well, I think it is her way of giving clear approval to you as my lover.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says with a hint of awe. He fidgets as he tries to suppress a smile. “She can keep doing it. It’s okay---I’m not bothered.”

“She still should have asked,” Victor comments. 

Yuuri looks at him, trying to calm his nerves. This has been on his mind since the bar in Beijing...it’s finally time, he thinks. “Um...am...can I call you Vitya?” His voice is timid, unsure that he’s encroaching on some kind of silent boundary.

Victor’s head snaps to him with wide, shimmering eyes. “You’d like that? You---” he stops. “I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with---”

“You have a name for me,” Yuuri points out. “And I don’t feel right about using Vic-chan for a couple of reasons. I know sometimes I call you _koibito_ but...is it okay? Can I call you Vitya?” He looks down at his hands. “If it’s not to your liking, I won’t. I just thought I could---”

“I’d love it!” Victor interrupts. His tone is exuberant, and when Yuuri hazards a look at his face, his expression is perilously close to painful with its glee.

Yuuri smiles. “Okay, Vitya.”

Victor tackles him. “Yuuri!” He plants a long, ardent kiss on his lips, and Yuuri melts until he realizes there’s no partition like the car returning home from Chugoku. 

“Vitya---” he protests.

Victor blinks then has the same realization. “Oh.” He moves back to a more polite distance.

Against his judgment, Yuuri giggles as he presses two fingers to his lips before recalling another word from the night. “Oh wait...she called me something else,” he says. “I think it’s  Russian I don’t know yet...something like _veshret_?”

“ _Beshert_ ,” Victor corrects with gentleness. “It’s not Russian, it’s Yiddish. That’s why it was unfamiliar.”

Yiddish?

“Wait---” Yuuri gives Victor a confused look. “Yiddish like...Jewish.”

“Yes,” Victor says.

Yuuri stares. “You’re Jewish?” He immediately smacks himself in the forehead because, as Phichit would declare, that was _rude af_.

Victor nods. “I’ve had to refrain from attending services while living in Hasetsu. The closest place I could attend _shabbat_ is in Kobe. And my family tends to be somewhat quiet about it. I’ve not discussed it much in a way you would have known.”

Kobe. Which is four and a half hours from Hasetsu by train each way.

Wait.

“Why don’t you?” Yuuri asks.

Victor gathers his thoughts. “It’s been a habit of my family’s since the Pogroms we’ve not managed to shake.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, feeling smothered by guilt. “Oh I---why didn’t---I should have asked---”

Victor shrugs his left shoulder. “You had no reason to, and I didn’t look into the geography until after my arrival. You bear no responsibility, and the Chugoku championship was in the middle of the High Holy Days, which means I could not spare the time regardless as I would have had to stay overnight for both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I have chosen to pray more than usual when I’ve had time to myself. Extraordinary circumstances,” he says with a half-smile.

He’s sacrificed so much, Yuuri thinks. He just---he gives so much, so often, without even being asked. He takes Victor’s hands, entwining their fingers. “How can I ever repay this?” 

He intends his words for himself.

“There’s no need,” Victor replies. “Next year, you won’t be forced to compete in the block requirement. We’ll be able to take the time off for me to properly observe.” Victor takes a deep breath. “You can join me, if you want.”

Yuuri isn’t super into church. He writes prayers at shrines because of course, but in Michigan he didn’t make much effort to find one and thus went without except when he returned to Japan for Nationals. He’s been taken to religious functions by rinkmates, little things like Easter or Christmas sermons---they were...okay, he thinks. He didn’t follow some of it since he wasn’t raised in the Christian faith. 

The incense smelled nice, that’s his main takeaway. 

It sounds like Judaism is (at least a bit) important to Victor, though, and he did hear the sadness permeating his voice when he explained what he set aside for Chugoku. He can, at the least, be there for him in this, even though he’s confused by Victor planning that far ahead. “Yeah, I’ll join you next time,” he says. “I’d like to.”

Even more than using Vitya, Victor looks so full of happiness that Yuuri fights back tears for the second time that night. He opens his mouth, then he derails his train of thought to begin again. “I almost forgot--- _beshert_ is, more or less, soulmate. She’s saying she believes that we are written in the stars.”

Yuuri gives Victor a lengthy stare. Well, he ached for her approval. This means he definitely got it. He covers his mouth for a moment because he can’t figure out how else to react. Unfortunately, he doesn’t really get time to as they pull up under the awning of their hotel, and the driver opens the door for them. Victor gives him the money for the fare, and he leads Yuuri back inside with a hand low on his waist. 

Yuuri gives him a bright grin as they walk through the lobby to the lifts, having had enough of a chance to realize that his reaction should be _incredibly goddamn happy_ , and when he looks around, he sees they’ve caught Yuri’s attention. He’s discussing something with Yakov and Madam Baranovskaya (whose cheekbones can cut diamonds, Yuuri notes, and wow she is everything Minako said plus more, the lady is _divine_ ) as they step out of one of the hotel's dining establishments, and Yuri watches them while he ignores his coaches.

The look when aimed at Victor is utterly poisonous, capable of stopping an elephant in its tracks, but when he focuses on Yuuri it’s...inscrutable until they make eye contact, causing Yuri to make a different, more sour face, turning his gaze pointedly elsewhere.

There’s something about this behavior that Yuuri thinks he should get, as if there’s a very obvious answer for this and their earlier conversation. Maybe he’ll ask Victor when they’re alone.

Or maybe not.

The moment the lift doors close, Victor makes a sound like his night has become a force of unending torment. Yuuri is immediately concerned. “I hate cameras,” Victor complains with bitterness.

Yuuri doesn’t follow, because generally that’s not true. Maybe it’s that American thing called Opposite Day. “What?”

“If it weren’t for all the cameras in here,” he explains. “I’d push the emergency stop and take you against the wall.”

Yuuri blinks. He looks at Victor, then back forward. Then he looks at him again. “What?”

“You know what you did,” Victor argues, and Yuuri can see the longing and desire in his eyes.

He has no idea what he means. “But I just...I’ve not been sexy, I don’t think---”

The chime rings and the lift opens. Victor pulls him towards their room. Yuuri is still confounded when at the halfway mark, Victor presses him back first into the wall. His mouth and hands go everywhere, weakening Yuuri’s knees and drawing out a low moan. 

“You calling me Vitya,” Victor explains, breathless, between kisses. “You wanting that closeness, to also share things that are a piece of my life, my family---” 

He drags Yuuri the rest of the way, stopping to kiss him at least a dozen times, Yuuri overheating from the naked want he feels in every press of his lips. The walk must take twenty minutes even though it’s barely sixty feet. When Victor manages to messily get the door open as he tries to tear off Yuuri’s jacket, the two of them almost falling through it in the process, he drops their coats and scarves, removes his calfskin gloves with his teeth, and actually picks Yuuri up ( _holy shit_ ) to carry him to their bed.

“Uh---” Yuuri eloquently begins, flailing a bit out of reflex as Victor sets him on his back and kneels between his spread legs. “I genuinely don’t----”

Victor tosses his sweater aside like it’s nothing, doing the same to Yuuri’s. He works on the buttons on Yuuri’s shirt, fumbling with two before he snaps, “ _Yebat' yego_ ” and rips the gingham open, the buttons scattering in every possible direction.

“You’re buying me a new one,” Yuuri can’t help but reprimand. He wants to be angry, but he laughs instead. It’s so ridiculous, he can’t stay mad.

Victor makes sure with what his hands and tongue do that Yuuri loses the capacity for saltiness. By the time the main event commences, Yuuri can’t do shit aside from beg and writhe.

When they finish, clothing scattered all over and Yuuri’s glasses buried somewhere in the sheets or maybe son the floor (he makes a note to be very careful when he gets out of bed in the morning), it occurs to him that Victor spectacularly disregarded his mother’s advice.

Victor also got his wish about ravishing him.

_\------_

Yuuri puts his hand on Victor and removes the red and silver guards one at a time. He steps onto the ice, but before he gets started Victor hands him his thermos. He takes a sip of his tea, hands it back, and skates out.

Unlike China his assigned practice is with his cohort, and he makes a point to ignore them so he doesn’t get psyched out. Though it’s hard when JJ speeds by spraying ice everywhere shouting about his “JJ Style!” Yuuri stops on a dime to let him pass as he does a Quad Lutz, getting so much air he almost soars above the boards.

Yuuri’s brows contort so one is sky high while the other is down low like that blue Muppet with the nationalistic streak, but then he goes back about his business. 

Victor wants him to run through “Eros” and some of the combinations from “Yuri On Ice” so he does until he needs to rehydrate. He skates past Michele, who keeps getting interrupted by Emil’s _completely blatant_ flirting, and Seung Gil, who honestly intimidates Yuuri as he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him come close to cracking a smile.

Phichit knows him from Juniors since they’re the same age, and he’s told Yuuri he’s not bad. He said pets are a good opening because Seung Gil deeply loves his Husky, Hyun. Yuuri considers it while he drinks some water as he can talk about Makkachin or Vicchan for weeks complete with dozens of photos from his camera roll if no one intervenes.

Victor leans on the boards, his hand too close to Yuuri’s for any veneer of professionalism. Yuuri takes a stealthy glance---no one’s watching. “You look wonderful,” Victor says. His smile is full of pride. “I’m quite pleased.”

Yuuri bites his bottom lip. “Yeah?” He can’t help it. He shouldn’t, he knows better, they’re in public, but he can’t not. “How pleased?” he teases with a flirty tilt of his head.

Victor gives him a look that’s more than a little forward for where they are. “Pretty pleased, but I could be even more so.”

Yuuri pouts. “Aw, but---” He rubs a gloved index finger on the wood near Victor’s bare thumb, barely grazing his skin. “I was hoping I’d get a reward.”

Victor’s face is fake-thoughtful. “Go back to the ice,” he says. “Do a flawless Salchow. We’ll negotiate upon completion of that task.”

Yuuri grins and departs. He glides across the rink and takes off from the back inside edge of his blade, getting the perfect number of rotations, and ending with a flawless landing on the back outside edge of the opposite foot. He pauses, turning to skate backwards and observe Victor’s expression.

He’s applauding like one would a perfectly sung aria, and Yuuri can tell from what he’s able to discern sans glasses his expression is more than a bit happy. 

Perfect.

Madam Baranovskaya stands near Victor, though she isn’t watching Yuri Plisetsky. Her scrutiny, Yuuri realizes, is on him. He returns to them, a bit confused and curious. “I did it per your request,” he says to Victor, though this time he makes sure his voice is neutral as they now have a third party listening.

“Very well,” Victor says in a similar tone. He gives Yuuri a subtle wink, though, so he knows their negotiation hasn’t been tabled.

Yuuri looks at Madam Baranovskaya. He bows. “Madam,” he greets her with a polite, soft note of respect filing the word. When he raises his head, her face is impassive except for her eyes. 

They’re quite charmed, all told. He doesn’t accomplish that often so he inwardly celebrates.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” she says. “The name is familiar, though not from skating. You are acquainted with Okukawa Minako, yes?”

“Yes, Madam,” Yuuri says. “She’s my lifelong ballet instructor, as well as the reason why I began to skate. Much of my career is due to her, no question. A prior engagement prevented her attendance here, but should I qualify for the Final she will be present to lend me support in Barcelona.”

Victor watches them talk with barely-hidden interest. Yakov pretends not to eavesdrop...poorly. 

Yuri skates by them, giving the entire group a weird look before he’s distracted by JJ pulling his hair like he’s a little girl he feels the need to bully and chittering a _mon petit chat_ as he takes a sizeable lead. The word Yuri shouts is not fit for children, the elderly, pets, or people with dry skin as he charges, presumably to slit JJ's throat with one of the ebony blades he wears on his custom skates.

“I recognize her in how you hold your body---you’ve got her effortless grace in your arm movements,” Madam Baranovskaya elaborates, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. “Had I not heard about you upon other occasions, I would know without a doubt you are her pupil.”

“I will be sure to extend your compliment,” Yuuri says. 

She gives a slight smile. “Good luck, Katsuki Yuuri. I look forward to how you will challenge my Yurochka.”

“He challenges me as much, Madam,” Yuuri says with another bow. She returns her focus to Yuri while next to Yakov, and Yuuri turns to his own coach. “What next?”

Victor smiles. “You’ve been a bit sloppy on the step sequence transition in ‘Eros’ the last few practices. Do better like we both know you can.”

Yuuri nods and sips some water. He goes back out.

Emil skates by, favoring Yuuri with a bright smile. “You look great today!” he says.

Yuuri slows because he isn’t sure if Emil’s struck out with Michele so much _he’s_ now the object of his affections, but then he realizes he’s only being nice. “Thank you! Same to you!”

Emil’s grin grows wider as he waves and moves to a more isolated corner.

Sara’s practice isn’t until the men’s finishes, and she leans on her arms against the boards. Her eyes flit between her twin and Seung Gil, interestingly enough, but Yuuri receives a bit of her attention too. “Yuuri!” she calls with a wave.

He’s only a meter from her so he stops. “Hey.”

She leans forward, gesturing for him to do the same. He does. “Yuuri...is it really true you’ve done a big departure this year? With your program content, I mean?”

Yuuri gives her a confused look. “How do you mean? My program’s theme is ‘love.’”

Sara bites her bottom lip with a coy expression. “I mean how your short is about sex.”

Yuuri coughs and darts his eyes away. “Uh, well it’s...I mean---”

She laughs and pats him on the shoulder a few times. The sound is bright and musical completely befitting her personality. “I can’t wait to watch it. I’m sure you’ll be enthralling, like you were in Sochi.”

Like Sochi? Sochi where he finished a hundred points behind Victor? “Sure. I need to get back to practice,” he says. “Good luck!”

“ _Buona fortuna anche a te!”_ she replies as her brother froths at the mouth while calling her name. Yuuri makes a point to move as far from her as he can lest Michele get the wrong idea. 

Though after the kiss in China...he’s kind of silly if he does, Yuuri muses. No one compares to Victor, everyone with taste knows this. He gets to a clear space and runs through his instructions a few times, until he sees Victor waving at him to come back. He breezes past Seung Gil studiously perfecting part of his mambo program, though the expression on his face makes him look like he’s skating into the rink thinking _murder_.

JJ evades Yuri’s clutches (for now, Yuuri thinks), and he’s again doing that odd hand gesture and shouting his catchphrase. Yuuri wonders if he could ever pull off a catchphrase, but then he doesn’t know what it would be other than “I love Victor,” or “Eat more katsudon.” He could consult Phichit, perhaps.

Time is called, and one by one, they exit the ice. Emil has his hands on Michele’s shoulders, Michele grumbles about his bubble being invaded, Seung Gil speaks in Korean to his coach, JJ gives Yuri the wink and finger guns, Yuri has to be physically restrained by Yakov so he doesn’t punch him, and Yuuri calmly puts his guards on his skates with his right hand on Victor’s shoulder.

He undoes the velcro around his wrists and takes off a glove at a time, slow and elegant like he saw in a movie about a Victorian courtship. They’re not opera length, but judging from Victor’s fixated gaze on the blue lines at his wrists, it works the same. “If it pleases the coach,” Yuuri says. “Shall we deal?”

Victor gestures with two fingers for Yuuri to lean close. Yuuri does, the height difference negligible when he’s on his skates, and Victor puts his hand on his right hip and brushes his lips against Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri swallows and has to suppress a shudder. “A leisurely blow job,” Victor offers.

“Me giving or receiving?” Yuuri asks, making sure to pitch his voice low. Either is a reward as far as he’s concerned.

“Receiving,” Victor answers. “Then your legs wrapped around my waist until I make you scream.”

Yuuri’s got an open smile, his eyes aimed down as he pretends to consider it. “Okay,” he concedes. “I accept.”

Victor’s sharp inhale tells him all he needs but he adds a hushed, “Amazing.”

Everyone else is gone, the ladies competitors filing in. Yakov stays in place as another of his skaters, Mila Babicheva, is in the ladies’ group with Sara. She’s a striking red head with clear blue eyes and peaches and cream skin. Sara is close friends with her, Yuuri knows, and the two of them hug before they take off their skate guards and warm up. When Mila passes by him and Victor, she stops with a winning smile. “Hey Victor! I’ve been keeping up with you on Instagram. Things seem to be going well.” 

She turns her eyes to Yuuri as she says this, and he flushes because they’re still so close, Victor not having removed his hand.

Victor smiles, eyes only for Yuuri. “Couldn’t be better.”

Mila’s smile turns into a knowing one. She gives Yuuri her attention again. “I don’t think we’ve formally met,” she says. She extends a hand like a proper lady would. “Mila.”

“Yuuri,” he says as he shakes it how Minako taught him. 

“Charmed,” she says as she gives both of them her focus. “Make a point to give me time at the banquet both of you. I’d like to play catch up and get to know you better.” 

Before she can continue Yakov barks a drill, and Mila makes an oops face as she does his bidding with a wave. Victor waves back with a bright smile, and Yuuri gives her a small wave of his own. “She’s nice,” he says.

“She’s also feisty,” Victor replies. “Like the myth about women with her hair color. It’s natural, you know.”

Yuuri gives Victor look that’s both confused and mildly sour.

It takes Victor too long to understand. When he does, his eyes widen. “Oh! No, she’s been training with Yakov since she was too young to have it colored.” Victor waves his hands. “Oh no, no, I absolutely--- _no, Yuuri!_ ”

Yuuri is highly unimpressed. “Hm.”

Victor realizes he’s in the proverbial doghouse, which is actually quite funny but Yuuri continues his outward silent disapproval instead. Victor sighs, but Yuuri lets him steer them both to the locker room so Yuuri can take off his skates and get ready for some fluff interviews. “I would have told you that night after your press conference,” Victor says.

“You only specifically named Chris,” Yuuri points out. 

Victor makes sure they’re alone---they are, since they dithered behind enough the other men’s soloists left. Victor kneels, taking Yuuri’s left foot in his hands with open reverence. “Well...I can give you names, I suppose. I didn’t think it honestly makes a difference. It’s all in the past, and there’s no bad blood to my knowledge. I find it irrelevant.”

To be frank, Yuuri doesn’t really care per se---it’s just that he’d have thought Victor would mention Mila by name if she is an ex. That’s all. 

Oh but wait. 

Mila is about a decade younger than Victor, as she’s two years Phichit’s junior. Oh yikes, _definitely_ nothing happened since Victor would have spent most of their time training together with her being underage. “It’s fine,” he says. “Really.” He gives Victor a smile so he knows the words are true. After sliding his feet into his trainers without untying them, he stands on his toes and places both hands on Victor’s face. “Promise.”

Victor’s hands grip his waist. “ _Ya tebya lyublyu, lapochka_.”

Yuuri grins. He rises up the last bit and kisses him. Victor’s lips press against his, soft and velvety thanks to his obsession with that pricey balm, and he gives the right pressure, the right amount of affection, and Yuuri melts, his body surging against him. It takes them too long to recall their location’s lack of privacy, but when they do, Yuuri zips up the black and blue jacket once they've broken apart.

Victor leads him to the press room, and then it’s show time. His rewards have to wait.

_\-----_

It is Men’s Short Program Day and Yuuri mills about the green room with Victor, waiting for the first group to be called. He’s first the second set of skaters with only Yuri and JJ after. It’s not bad company to keep, he thinks. 

Seung Gil should be fined extensively for crimes against fashion, Yuuri notes as he gets the first peak of his Mambo costume. Victor gives the screen look of thinly-veiled horror, so Yuuri can tell it’s not just him. That nervous, bile-taste comes to his throat, and he puts in his earplugs. Victor sees this, and he gently steers Yuuri away from the monitor to a wall near the entrance. Victor leans against it, periodically watching Yuuri or staring across the room. 

Yuuri bows his head, the noise of the crowd and the competitors muffled and drowned out by the black foam in his ears. He keeps his eyes focused on his Mizuno sneakers, occasionally adjusting the mesh and leather-like spandex fingerless gloves on his hands. His nails are a touch bitten down, his cuticles drier than usual due to the colder air in Moscow. He considers getting a manicure for Barcelona if he makes it---Phichit gets one before every competition, and while Yuuri always called him ridiculous before, he can’t help but think he may be onto something as he catalogues the less than perfect state of his hands.

Occasionally he feels a hand stroke the back of his neck, the calfskin of the glove drifting over his nape as smooth as butter, and his posture becomes a little less like a live wire. The third time, Yuuri looks at Victor and gives him a crooked half of a smile. Victor’s eyes are basically soft blue hearts, and he sweetly smiles back. 

He can’t recall who was second or third out of Emil and Mickey, but all of a sudden halfway into the Mambo, JJ in his red jacket claps. He says something in their direction Yuuri can’t make out. He removes the earplugs. “Sorry,” Yuuri says. “What?”

“Seung Gil just did a Quad Loop! I remember---Victor---” Victor doesn’t make eye contact with JJ, giving Yuuri his attention for a moment. “You did it in exhibition once, right? Last year?”

Victor doesn’t look at JJ so much as through him, and Yuuri stares in shock at the frostiness in his tone when he replies with, “I don’t recall.”

First of all, Victor can tell a person what he had for lunch the day of every competition he’s ever entered. Ask Victor what he said to you last week, and he has no idea, but ask him to recall an object or a food from years back---even in when he competed in Juniors---and he can recite every fine detail. Yuuri knows this from experience---it was a hilarious game he played once until Victor got bored and kissed his neck and ears until he wanted to play a different game with their bedroom door shut. 

Ahem.

Anyways...if Victor can recall minutiae such as the flavor of syrup in his latte the morning of the Grand Prix Final in 2013, there’s zero way he wouldn’t remember doing a Quad Loop in a program less than a year ago.

The second is never in all of his years of skating---or Victor’s, for that matter---has Victor spoken with even a _fraction_ of the disdain he just showed JJ. Everyone knows it, that while Victor may not necessarily be humble, he is always friendly and unfailingly kind to fans, press, and competitors alike. Somehow, JJ appears to not have noticed as he’s still grinning. 

What the hell happened between them? What could JJ have possibly done?

JJ’s coach, who is also his father, calls to him in French, and Yuuri turns a concerned gaze onto Victor. Victor’s eyes are laser focused on JJ’s retreating back, until he’s far enough away to not hear him. Victor grinds his jaw for a second before giving Yuuri a look full of worry and love. “ _Daijobou?_ ”

Yuuri casts his eyes back to JJ and the Leroys. “ _Īdesuga, nani ga mondaina nodesu ka?_ ” he responds in kind. He guesses Victor picked Japanese so no one can eavesdrop. Fine by him, he supposes.

“ _Boku wa karera ga nanimonode mo nai yō ni aite o atsukau kyōsō aite o kinishinai_ ,” Victor says simply, his tone filled with a slight note of venom.

Wait what? 

“Treating me like nothing?” Yuuri says in English. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t appreciate his snub of you,” Victor says, “He refused to acknowledge you in some strange way to ingratiate himself to me, and in the process threw it in your face that Seung Gil and I posess a jump on our rosters you do not.” 

“I don’t know that’s what that was,” Yuuri says. He looks towards JJ, who speaks to his folks. He’s boisterous and loud, but there’s something not matching it in the way he holds his shoulders, like he carries a significant amount of some kind of stress or tension.

“He should take you as seriously as he would any competitor,” Victor finishes with a glare at the Canadian’s back. “You do not deserve anything less than his utmost respect, and by disrespecting you, he in turn disrespects me.”

“He doesn’t take anyone seriously,” Yuuri points out. “You see what he says to Yurio.”

“I won’t pretend I’m not biased,” Victor admits in a surprisingly placid tone. “He shouldn’t do that to him, either, you’re right. His capriciousness irritates me. That’s all.” 

Yuuri decides it’s valid. “Okay.” He does something he wouldn’t normally while they’re backstage, he reaches down and puts Victor’s gloved hand in his. He squeezes it, then lets it go and assumes a more mentor-and-protege stance. 

Group one finishes, and Yuuri and Victor head to the rink. He’s put on his skates already, but there’s something off about his right one. When Victor takes his JSF coat, he realizes the issue---it’s too loose, he won’t be able to do his spins safely. “My laces aren’t tight enough,” he says.

Before he bends to fix it, Victor drops to his knees like a spool of silk ribbon unrolling to the floor. He undoes the right laces, tenderly tightening them one loop at a time. Then he double-knots them. He moves to the left boot and repeats the motions. 

Yuuri braces his hands against the boards. His breath catches as he swallows, his eyes drifting over the part in Victor’s hair, the bangs covering his eye, the straight slope of his nose. It’s a lovely picture, Victor on his knees, one with which he is intimately familiar, though the bespoke three-piece suit is out of the norm as are the gloves. 

He loses himself for a moment in the sense memory of the leather against his skin from not so long ago.

Victor looks up at him. “Better?” he asks. 

Yuuri licks his lips. “Well done,” he says in that specific voice he saves for special occasions.

The colors change in Victor’s eyes, and his cheeks turn a light pink. It’s his turn to swallow. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri nods, and gestures with two fingers for Victor to stand. He does, and since Yuuri is a hair taller in his skates, they look directly in each other's eyes as Yuuri steps backwards from the rink floor to the ice. He skates a little around the bend and Victor matches their strides as he follows.

That’s when Yuuri hears the chant. The Moscow spectators yell Victor’s name over and over again like a summoning spell, and Victor turns to them with a grin so wide his eyes close. He waves at them like a Beauty Queen.

Yuuri’s jaw locks.

He grabs Victor’s Hermes tie. “Vitya,” he half-commands as he pulls his face to focus on him once again. He never gave Victor permission to look elsewhere. Victor might have to be punished. The telltale hitch of Victor’s breath, the heat and flush that fills his complexion...Yuuri knows he’s regained the proper focus. “We’ve already begun the show.”

Victor’s eyes take on that glassy darkness Yuuri recognizes from many, many moments between them when they’re alone. “Yes, Yuuri,” he says.

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri says as he allows a small, private smile and a hint of velvet in his voice. “I’ll show my love to all of Russia.”

He delicately drops the tie and skates to the center ice, noting the announcer butchers the pronunciation of his last name. Figures, not the first time, won’t be the last, universal constant, et cetera.

The flamenco guitar starts, Yuuri moves, and this time when he directs a smoldering look to Victor, he blows him a kiss like that day when their relationship had just begun. He skates and he dances, weaving a seductive web to remind the entire country who Victor belongs to, how they both own each other.

It’s also to remind Victor himself, but that’s a minor detail.

He nails every jump, every pose, spin, and step, he finishes to a wild, almost violent round of applause and screams. Stuffed toys and scores of red roses are tossed around him, and Yuuri casually picks up a pillow shaped like a piece of sushi as he exits.

Yuri Plisetsky is there in his white and silver costume next to Victor. “Out of the way, pig,” he says, though his voice is oddly calm and almost polite.

Yuuri moves to the side to allow him passage. He’s next to Victor now, and as they watch Yurio flit away, Victor says, “Looks like Yurio found his Agape.”

Yuuri smiles. The pair shout encouragements as Victor kneels a second time to slide on the red and silver skate guards, much like a prince helping a maiden try on her glass slipper. He holds the jacket open and Yuuri slides an arm into it at a time, then Victor zips it to his throat. The game’s restarted, Yuuri realizes. He shouldn’t, but he allows Victor to lead him to the Kiss and Cry with a hand low on his waist. They sit and await Yuuri’s scores.

He blew his personal best away in Beijing, and now in Moscow he blows _that_ away. Twice in a row he’s reached triple digits, and as Yuuri’s eyes widen, his smile shines out to the camera and the crowd.

Victor gets on one knee, and Yuuri stares in disbelief. Is he---can he be--- _proposing_?

Victor lifts Yuuri’s right skate and presses his lips to the boot by Yuuri’s ankle. It’s sensuous and lasts quite a while, his eyes opening and drifting to Yuuri’s. Yuuri’s the one flushed and holding his breath now---he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to run them through Victor’s hair, tell him he’s a such good, good boy...but there are microphones and cameras, and the kiss was one matter---this is different, this is a game they share with only each other.

He needs a means of escape---he needs to get Victor alone as fast as possible. Yuri stands by the boards nodding at Yakov and Madam Baranovskaya. Yuuri sees a possible opening. “Yurio!” he shouts. “ _Davai_!”

Yuri stares at him, Yuuri squinting and noting a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth.

“Yurio!” Victor leaps up, knocking into the side of Yuuri’s head. He’d normally complain, but it’s fine given the circumstances. “ _Ganbatte_!”

Yurio’s face morphs into a tableau of vivid disgust. He turns away and skates off. 

Victor stands and holds his hand to Yuuri. “May I?” he asks low enough it won’t be picked up by the mics.

Yuuri inclines his head. “Thank you,” he replies as he accepts the gesture. He takes control, though, and leads Victor out of the arena proper and down a hallway to the locker room. Everyone else is backstage, watching the event or stretching in JJ’s case. Once they’re out of view from passers by, Yuuri backs Victor into a wall. He reaches up and grabs his chin with his mesh-covered hand. “Vitya,” he purrs.

Victor’s throat works, and they’re so close Yuuri can feel his body temperature rise. “Yes, Yuuri,” he says.

“You took your eyes off me,” Yuuri says. “I never said you could.”

Victor’s cheeks are so red, but Yuuri’s pressed close enough he knows a not insignificant portion of his blood is elsewhere. This is only the second time Yuuri’s put on this persona deliberately and for lack of a better word, Victor is shook. “You’re right, Yuuri. I’m very sorry.” He drops his gaze, humbling himself, and Yuuri swipes his thumb over his bottom lip.

“You’ll have to make amends,” Yuuri says. 

“Of course,” Victor replies. His hands drop to Yuuri’s waist, and he reverses them so his back is to the room, Yuuri able to look over his shoulder. 

“Take off my skates,” Yuuri says. “Slowly.”

Victor makes a noise like a pained fox in a trap. He drops again, controlled and oh-so-slow, and he bends over the right boot. He unties the first knot with his hands, then---after making sure to hold Yuuri’s gaze in the process---undoes the rest with his teeth, his pearly whites a tantalizing contrast against the black cord. 

He’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Nothing has ever even come close, nor will anything in the future. 

Yuuri’s achingly hard under his dance belt and spandex, fighting the urge to touch himself through the layers. A song plays, Beyonce’s vocals taking Yuuri out of the moment until he realizes it's his phone. His hand sneaks into his pocket and silences the incoming call, though he doesn’t decline it. He allows it to go to voicemail. “Oh Vitya,” he says. “I wish you could see yourself like this. You’re so good, so eager to please…”

Victor shudders even in the layers he wears to the rink. Yuuri sees his hand press against his groin beneath the folds of his trenchcoat, and Yuuri bites his bottom lip. He knows---of course he knows---that this makes Victor hot, but it’s nice to have confirmation nonetheless.

The ringtone again. Yuuri bites back a curse and shuts his phone down all the way. It can wait. Whoever the hell it is, they can damn well wait.

Victor’s pulled the skate off, and runs his hand over the arch of Yuuri’s foot up his legging-covered calf. Yuuri puts a hand on one of his shoulders, the other resting on the crown of Victor’s head. “Good boy,” he says dripping with desire.

A quick flash of red passes in his vision, and he glances towards it out of reflex and witnesses a completely freaked the fuck out Jean-Jacques Leroy. Yuuri gives him a look daring him to say anything, to utter even the slightest comment or make the slightest expression.

He doesn’t. He averts his gaze and bolts as quietly as he can. Victor’s none the wiser, still worshipping Yuuri below his knees. Yuuri’s left eyebrow quirks slightly as he sees JJ flee. 

But---it’s a reality check. He skated too late this qualifier with not enough time before the final standings are announced. They can’t, as much as he wishes otherwise, finish their playtime. Not here. 

Victor has both skates off, resting next to Yuuri’s right ankle. “Vitya.”

Victor looks up at him. 

Yuuri swallows. God he doesn’t want to do this, though perhaps delaying their gratification will make it more intense. “Put my trainers on, and I’ll give you a such a good reward at the hotel, we’ll get noise complaints for the rest of our stay.”

Victor lights up like Yuuri just gave him eight Olympic gold medals, and he already has three. “Yes, Yuuri!” he says as he snaps to it, siding the trainers on a foot at a time and securely tying them. They adjust themselves, taking a moment to cool down, and as they walk back to the green room, Yuuri turns on his phone. 

It takes a moment from the white screen and the black bitten-apple logo for a full reboot, and when it does he sees he has a total of five missed calls, two from his mother and three from Mari. There’s also a missed text message. 

_EMERGENCY. CALL ASAP_ his sister sent.

Fuck. Yuuri selects Mari in his contacts. His call has barely gone through when she answers. “Yuuri? God, I’m so sorry to call you when you’re at an event, and I wouldn’t have but---it’s Makkachin. We set out an offering for Vicchan, a bunch of steamed buns, and he ate them too fast. They got caught in his throat, and when I found him he was choking---”

Yuuri stops hearing her, the only sound a ringing in his ears like the test-pattern on a television station whose programming for the day has ended. He gets trapped in the memory of a similar phone call he answered after his short program in Sochi not even a year ago.

_Yuuri, honey, we’re so sorry. Vicchan died---the vet said it’s a neurological issue of some kind, and that he didn’t suffer as it happened too quickly. We weren’t able to do anything for him, and again, we’re so sorry, but he knew how much you loved him. Try not to blame yourself._

“Okay, Mari,” Yuuri struggles to reply in a monotone.

“He’s at the hospital---I’m with him,” she says. “The vet thinks he’ll likely be okay, but he can’t guarantee anything. He won’t make any promises, and I somehow never got Victor’s number in all the time he’s lived here, so I had to call you instead. Yuuri, I’m sorry to do this right now,” she is, Yuuri knows, it’s bleeding over through the speaker. “But if I were Victor, I’d want to know. I’ll text you the emergency vet’s number so Victor can call and check in himself.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says again. He’s numb, completely numb, her phone call more or less acting as novocaine for his soul.

“I’ll call again if anything changes,” Mari says. “I’m staying here tonight. Good luck, Yuuri, and I’m sorry again.”

She hangs up, and Yuuri’s mood suddenly shifts. “Vitya!” he barks, not caring who hears.

Victor gives him a strange look.

“You have to go back to Japan,” Yuuri says. “Right now. Rebook your ticket and get on the first flight to Fukuoka.”

Victor’s face is super confused. “Yuuri---the free program’s tomorrow? We can’t just leave.”

“No, _you_ are leaving,” Yuuri corrects. “Makkachin choked and might not make it. You have to go home. You...you just---you _have to_.” 

The severity creeps into Victor’s eyes and face like a slow dawn. All color drains out of his skin, leaving him with an unnatural pallor Yuuri is sickened to witness. His eyes lose all of their trademark sparkle. “Yuuri…” he says, and his voice is so torn, so full of anguish Yuuri uses every ounce of will he has to refrain from holding him. “I can’t...you need a coach. I can’t go back, I have to be here.”

“No,” Yuuri says. “Trust me, from someone who knows, you will never forgive yourself if you don’t.”

The look in his eyes, the taught set of his grimace, tells Yuuri Victor just recalled Vicchan. He presses a hand to his forehead under his bangs and closes his eyes. There’s a noise from a few meters away, and Yuuri turns. There stands Yuri, flanked by Yakov and Madam Baranovskaya. Victor glances at them as well before a mixture of hope and fear crosses his face. “Yakov! You’re the only coach for me!”

Yuuri is too baffled to make heads or tails of things---Yuri appears to feel the same.

“Can you coach Yuuri just for tomorrow, just this once?” Victor pleads. “Please. It’s an emergency---I have to get on the next flight to Japan.”

Yakov’s brows are furrowed. “What in Japan could possibly----”

“It’s Makkachin,” Victor says, pleading like a lost little boy.

Those two words make Yakov’s demeanor do a complete one-eighty. Instead of put out and irritated, he looks like his heart shattered. “Oh, God...Vitya. Okay. Yes, I can step in for Katsuki as his temporary coach. I’ll make an exception this once, and I’ll have Lilia act as Yurochka’s primary for the day.”

Yuri turns to Yakov with outrage. Yuuri holds up his hands. “Oh, no, that isn’t fair to Yurio. I can spend the free program alone, it’s fine. Really, I sw---”

“Absolutely not! This is the only way I’ll leave, so do not argue again, Yuuri!” Victor snaps.

Yuuri takes a step back, immediately cowed as Victor never uses so a harsh tone to address him---or really, anyone at all. He lowers his gaze with a slight bow of his head, the equivalent of a dog baring its throat in supplication. “ _Hai_ , Vitya.”

Yuri looks at them, one of his eyebrows rising on his forehead. He gives Yuuri the most scrutiny before---and without giving Yakov and Victor his acknowledgement any way but with speech---he says, “It’s fine. Coach the Katsudon, Yakov, and let Victor run back to his mutt. Lilia and I will not only manage, I’ll outscore him guaranteed.”

Yuuri gives him a long look, somewhere between gratitude and understanding, and Yuri returns it with a shrug as he adjusts the collar of his red, white, and blue, FFKR jacket. 

“Then it’s decided,” Yakov says. He gives Victor a tender look, and Yuuri recalls the midsummer day Victor told him Yakov would deny being like his second father. He wouldn’t---he’d pretend to, he’d probably complain---but he wouldn’t claim it’s an outright lie. Yuuri can tell from this one interaction. “Go home, Vitya. Be there for your Makka. I’ll watch over your---Katsuki.”

“Thank you,” Victor says as he lifts one of Yakov’s hands and kisses the back of it. “ _Spasiba._ ” He grabs his things, gesturing. “Yuuri, let’s go.”

Springing into action, Yuuri does without even sparing a glance back.


	10. Moscow 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also gives enough room for Yuuri to gain some clarity.
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/23770840648/in/album-72157687840107973/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no intention of taking a month again, sorry, so sorry, deepest apologies.
> 
> This is probably the saddest Katsudon I've written. *looks at the FMA AU and realizes that's saying quite a bit* Yeesh.
> 
> There's a lot of music in this, moreso than usual! In order:  
> -Samson by Regina Spektor  
> -Masochist by Ingrid Michaelson  
> -A Thousand Years by Christina Perri (look, the kid has it bad okay?)  
> -To Know Him is to Love Him by Amy Winehouse  
> -Stay by Rihanna  
> -Secrets by One Republic
> 
> (I might have missed one---let me know please if I did!)
> 
> I had a good time with Yakov and Yuuri's interactions here. I hope they're good for you all as well. I also had fun with Yurio and Yuuri, as well as the other skaters and Yuuri. The Hug Zombie sequence was enjoyable for a cornucopia of reasons!
> 
> Let it be forever known that Victor's Primary Love Language involves a lot of underhandedness. He regrets nothing, indeed.
> 
> Oh whoops---boerewors is a South African type of sausage that's cooked at a braai aka barbeque. Braaibrooodjies (pronounced braibrokeys) are a type of grilled cheese and onion sandwich you make after grilling the meat while the coals cool. They are...the best.
> 
> Double whoops: the picture I describe of Yuuri with Makkachin that's Victor's lockscreen is actually a piece of fanart that I use as my own: https://www.instagram.com/p/BSlgDeTh-n2/?taken-by=eryen_art
> 
> Jesus H: Bianca the cat=Bianca Castafiore from TinTin.

Yuuri packs Victor’s things.

Victor has been on and off the phone with three different airlines, each of which he has a platinum miles card with, trying to rebook and renegotiate getting back to Hasetsu as fast as humanly possible. Aeroflot offered him a direct flight to Narita and a complimentary shinkansen pass. American Express is working on it, they said. Lufthansa is juggling with Singapore Airlines. 

Victor’s firing off angry diatribes between Russian and English in equal measure, bouncing back and forth between calls and emails. 

Yuuri has an ANA card, though it’s not platinum. It didn’t hurt to try, and he did, he tried, he gave so much of his energy while name dropping himself _and_ his beloved as much as he felt he could skate by with. They’re working on it, they assured him. They have a flight departing out of Moscow in a couple of hours to Hokkaido---the hang up is getting him to Fukuoka. He was assured by the incredibly lovely customer service agent he would not rest until a solution was found.

He’s done his part and so he packs Victor’s things.

He gathers the skin care regimen---Victor’s coal soap, rosewater toner, various creams by Chanel he can’t fathom the price of, the under-eye paper things, his shave balm, and so on and so forth. He grabs the bodywash Victor uses and the travel-sized bottles of lavender-colored-and-scented shampoo and conditioner. He zips them in Victor’s purple pouch for sundries and puts it in his suitcase under his clothing so hopefully it won’t get squashed.

He takes clean clothes off the hangers, folds them, and puts them in the bag. He takes Victor’s banquet and free program suits and zips them with ever so much care into his garment bag. He grabs the socks and briefs out of their drawers and does the same. 

Victor continues pacing around the room like a tiger in a cage, words flowing a mile a minute as he swaps between calls. Yuuri has put every trace of Victor but the man himself away, zipped in his Louis Vuitton luggage like he’s walking out on their life together. 

Victor’s back turns to him, and he stands in front of their window. His right foot taps rapidly against the carpet in his laced-up brogue. He only took off one glove, the one worn on his phone hand. 

Yuuri unzips the suitcase. He grabs a shirt Victor loves and wears a lot---it’s a soft white fabric with baby-blue horizontal stripes. He wore it on the flight in. Yuuri rolls up the shirt and puts it under the blanket in their unmade bed. He zips back up the luggage.

_I'm feelin' kind of n-a-s-t-y I just might take you home with me. Baby the minute I feel your energy, your vibe's just taken over me---_

Yuuri answers his phone once he checks the caller ID---it’s a number he doesn’t recognize with a Tokyo area code. “ _Moshi moshi._ ”

It’s Watanabe-san from ANA. He explains to Yuuri in a triumphant tone that they worked it out, and Victor’s booked on the plane they have leaving Moscow in three and a half hours. Yuuri thanks him profusely, making a note to formally write a thank you to the company as he hangs up. “Vitya---”

Victor half-turns with an eyebrow raised.

“You’re booked on ANA,” Yuuri says. “The flight leaves in a little more than three hours.”

Victor has the demeanor of a man who will collapse from carrying the weight of his relief. “Thank God,” he says before muttering some quick words in Russian and hanging up, practically running the fifteen feet to Yuuri and gathering him in his arms. 

Yuuri closes his eyes and buries his face in his shoulder. He takes a deep breath to try and keep Victor’s scent fresh in his mind for the next few days, that sharp but clear ester like Victor’s a frosty dawn in Detroit with an underlying hint of musk and leather. Yuuri can get high off this, off doing nothing more than inhaling Victor’s base aroma, but right now the moment is tainted with the longing he feels to keep him close.

“I am so sorry, _lapochka_ , Victor says. His voice is pained and almost a whisper.

“Not your fault,” Yuuri replies.

“No, for raising my voice,” Victor explains. He pulls back, brushing the hair out of Yuuri’s eyes. “No matter how scared or stressed, I have no right to speak to you so crudely. I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”

“Oh Vitya,” Yuuri replies with a broken smile. “You weren’t thinking. It’s fine, I promise. I was taken by surprise, I won’t lie about that, but I wasn’t upset or hurt, not really. I know how scared you are.” He angles his face up and kisses Victor on the cheek. “It’s fine, really, but thank you for the apology.”

Victor cups his face in his hands. They kiss, then again, over and over for close to twenty minutes, like Victor’s being sent to death row and Yuuri will never touch him again. It’s not quite 72 hours of separation---free program day, gala and banquet day, then a day’s travel back to Japan---but they’ve never been apart for longer than eight hours, and Yuuri is already unbearably lonely.

Victor too, given the rush of endearments falling from his lips when they come up for air. Yuuri thinks he might need to become a human babelfish---he’s speaking in a weird combination of French and Russian that Yuuri can’t grasp, but the rough edges in his voice tell him the meaning the same.

Yuuri doesn’t respond, or rather, he doesn’t respond by speaking. Instead he clutches Victor tighter, kisses back harder, swallows down his tears though he thinks he may choke. After the thirtieth or fortieth---really who gives a shit---kiss, he pulls back and looks Victor in the eye. He strokes the silver fringe out of his eyes. “Take care of our baby, okay?” he manages after a minute.

Gratitude shifts through Victor’s eyes at the word _our_. He lets go of Yuuri’s waist to raise his hands, still in the Eros costume, to his lips. He kisses each knuckle slowly in turn though he lingers on Yuuri’s ring fingers. They don’t sever their eye contact for the duration of Victor showering him with this affection, and if they had more time Yuuri would show Victor how he’ll miss him a different way. 

If they only had more time, Yuuri thinks as a rock falls to the pit of his stomach. The Final is soon. His time is running low, he realizes, and he’s being robbed of days at this moment. He has to blink back the tears threatening to spill. 

“I should leave,” Victor says with a voice that sounds scraped raw. “If I don’t manage it at this moment, I won’t move.”

Yuuri lets him go and takes two steps back, putting about a foot between them. He raises his hands with a sad smile. Victor’s arms are still outstretched for him, but he slowly drops them to his sides. Victor swallows. “Walk me to the cab,” he pleads.

“Anything you want, _koibito_ ,” Yuuri replies.

Victor’s smile is strained, his eyes in turmoil like a stormy sea. “Good.”

Yuuri fishes out his glasses and puts them on, the lack of the corrective lenses beginning to cause a dull headache. He pockets the key cards, yes both as Victor no longer needs his, and he wheels the suitcase as Victor grabs his carry on and the suits. The elevator ride is sad, filled with a thread of tension. It’s awkward almost, Yuuri realizes. 

They haven’t been awkward since sakura season.

The chime sounds, the doors open, and they walk to the concierge. He gladly gets Victor a cab, and in the interim wait Yuuri stands next to Victor with his arms wrapped around his middle. The yellow car pulls up, and the driver comes inside. Victor greets him with a fake smile as he takes his belongings to the car. 

Victor turns to Yuuri and pulls him close again. “You will be great,” he says. “You will be magnificent. You need no one but yourself. You need nothing besides your strength, your heart. You will make it, alright?” 

Yuuri holds him tight. They’re not the words he wants, but they’re the ones he needs.

“Trust Yakov,” Victor continues. “He’ll help you. If you feel scared or nervous, just reach out and hug him like I am right now. He’ll support you.”

Yuuri almost recoils at the thought of Yakov Feltsman and a hug. He nods, though, to make Victor feel better.

Victor pulls back, his hands entwining with Yuuri’s by his waist. “I love you,” he says. “I love you, and I’ll stream it. I love you, and I’m here. In your heart, I’m here. I’m always here.”

“Vitya---” Yuuri begins. He has no idea how to finish.

Victor kisses his gloved fingers, then presses two to Yuuri’s lips. “I’ll see you soon, _lapochka_ ,” he says. He takes a moment or two, visibly steeling himself, and then he walks through the automatic doors. Yuuri watches him climb into the backseat and go. The pain hits him like getting struck by a bus, and he has to shake his head to clear it. 

He turns and starts to head back to his room, lost in thought, in the memory of Victor’s eyes as he pulled away. He swallows, though his throat is bone dry, and he puts his hands in his JSF jacket pockets as if he’s cold. 

He arrives in the room, showers, and puts away the costume. He pulls on a pair of lounge pants and a Hasetsu Ice Castle shirt that’s seen better days. The room service menu has cheese blintzes, and before he even realizes it he orders two helpings along with a pitcher of _kompot_. 

He watches a children’s show from the nineties called Cheburashka to help him with his Russian when the food arrives. He manages to eat one and a half plates and is considering sleep when he checks his phone to see missed texts from Mari, Phichit, and Chris.

Mari sent an update: Makkachin is stable, and the prognosis looks good. Yuuri sends her a reply with Victor’s flight info copied from the ANA confirmation email. She texts back that she’ll either have the Nishigoris or Minako get him. He thanks her, her reply a lightning quick _no problem, little bro_.

Phichit and Chris though---they’re fired without a severance package.

Chris: _They do say that still waters run deep. I’m quite proud of you, whipping Vitya so thoroughly...literally?_ Eye emoji, eggplant emoji.

Phichit: _OMG YUURI I’m kinkshaming you so hard! I didn’t consent to your scene, you filthy animals!_ with a photo of the skate kiss paused and Phichit’s scandalized face framed just _so_ next to it.

Yuuri’s rare inner Celestino manifests. “ _Mannaggia_ ,” he spits. 

_Not telling,_ he sends to Chris with a frowny emoji.

 _PHICHIT I SWEAR TO GOD_ he responds to his best friend.

 _I thought we had something real,_ Chris responds. _Besides, I can just get Vitya to admit to it._

Yuuri sighs. He knows when he’s beaten. _No whipping, that’s all you get._

The reply from Phichit is more in depth. _I mean, I’m just shocked. You never seemed like the type. Like I told you after the first time---straight laced! Though I mean not ‘straight,’ clearly. I just kind of figured the two of you did more of the dim candlelight and rose petals thing while Mariah Carey serenades your tender lovemaking._

 _I don’t even know where to begin with that,_ Yuuri replies. It’s true. _I guess I just got a man who can do both?_

Chris responds first. _That’s valid, and I salute you._ He sends a winking emoji and a star. _Nicely done today, btw. I’ll be watching tomorrow---good luck cheri!_

 _Merci beaucoup. Bonne nuit,_ Yuuri replies in the only French that stuck from Minako’s confusing attempts at imparting it. She’s terrible at teaching languages in a way that’s hilarious when compared to her ability to instruct dance.

Chris replies with a selfie of him and his snow-white Persian cat. Bianca is named for an opera singer in a comic Chris read obsessively as a child, which Phichit will most likely research soon as part of their budding relationship. Yuuri knows Bianca is Chris’s pride and joy off the rink and in return he sends him a photo even he has to concede is cute: him with Makkachin in his lap, not wearing his glasses as he elected to hold them over the dog’s eyes like he is some kind of scholar.

It’s Victor’s lockscreen and wallpaper.

The smile runs away from Yuuri’s face. He texts Phichit _can I call?_

He doesn’t get to---the phone rings, Bey’s voice overpowering the volume of the television. He turns the show down. “Hi.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Phichit says. “I was just about to reply to you, you know.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. “Makkachin had an accident.”

“Oh no! Is he okay?” Phichit’s voice is nothing but concern.

“I think he’ll make it,” Yuuri says. “Victor’s heading home, though, just in case. I’m doing the rest of Rostelecom alone...well, sort of.”

Phichit is silent. “Yuuri---”

Yuuri pastes on a smile. “It’s fine! He needs to be with his baby. He’s going where he should.”

“You don’t want this,” Phichit says. “You did it anyways, but you don’t want it.”

Yuuri feels his lower jaw tremble. He hitches out a breath. A beep tells him he has a text and he opens the message.

 _Boarding the plane now. I miss you so much,_ with five blue hearts.

He grips his phone tighter before typing _Be safe. Hug him for me when he’s up to it. Text me when you land._ There’s a pause, then he types, _I miss you too,_ with a blue heart.

 _Love you, lapochka._

Yuuri doesn’t reply since Victor’s likely turned his phone off. He returns his attention to Phichit. “No, I want him here,” Yuuri says as his voice trembles. “I did it for him, I sent him home because it’s what he needs---but I want him _here_.”

“Yuuri, you know,” Phichit says. “It’s okay for you to want things from him, and it’s okay for you to tell him the things you want. Did he want to stay?”

“He argued with me, yeah,” Yuuri says. “He said he wouldn’t go unless Yakov steps in tomorrow as my temporary coach.”

“...Did you back him into a corner?” Phichit asks.

“I just told him that I know because of Vicchan he’d never be able to live with it if Makka---” He can’t say the words. Mari said Makka is stable and still he can’t make himself say the worst case out loud. 

“That’s a yes,” Phichit replies. “Because how can he argue with that.”

“Phichit, I---” Yuuri sighs. “I can’t be with Makka, so he needs to go. And Makka has always been with him. He’s mine too, but he’s not mine in the way he’s Victor’s.” Yuuri sighs. “He needs his papa. Victor needs his boy. I’m a lower priority.”

“I highly doubt that,” Phichit remarks. “But, you’re not really wrong here. If Makka did end up not making it, Victor would be beside himself. I’ve read some of the interviews---I know how much he loves him.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer.

“As much as he loves Makkachin,” Phichit adds. “He definitely loves Yuuri more.”

Taking a shaky breath, Yuuri nods. “I guess.”

“No,” Phichit says. “I know. He does.”

Dare he believe it? Yuuri can’t conceive of that being true. He knows it’s likely a fleeting love still, a temporary one...but he also knows that Victor has become his everything, the other half of his soul he didn’t realize he lacked until he found him. 

It’s almost too good to be true. “I know he loves me,” Yuuri says. “I just…”

“Stop,” Phichit says with a groan. “Stop it. Okay? You deserve to be happy, and he makes you happy. Victor deserves the same, and likewise you and him. In some ways, you both made the right choice sending him back, but in other ways it’s not the right one at all. No matter what, it’s not easy. You’re allowed to be sad, you’re allowed to miss him, and you’re allowed most of all to be selfish sometimes and ask for him to support you.” He pauses. “None of us can always make it on our own.”

By now, the plane’s taken off. It’s approaching its cruising altitude. There is absolutely no way to tell Victor to come back. 

“I know,” Yuuri says. His eyes burn, and he wipes his forearm across his face to make the tears stop. His voice is small and wobbly.

“Hey,” Phichit says. “How about you call him tomorrow after your free skate? Regardless of the outcome, call him. I think hearing his voice will be good for both of you.”

Yuuri considers it, trying not to think too much about having to skate without his coach and lover. He’ll have to try to sleep, but he’s not a mess like China. At least not the same kind of mess. “Yeah. I will. Thanks, Phichit---I need to sleep.”

“Of course, Yuuri!” Phichit’s so reassuring and kind, Yuuri almost cries again. “Have a good night! Feel better!”

Phichit hangs up, and Yuuri plugs his phone into the charger. He curls up under blankets, duvet, and sheets facing the side that normally holds a beautiful Russian boy. He pulls out the shirt he stole, clutching it and a pillow like a dakimakura. It’s a poor facsimile of Victor, but there’s just enough of his scent on the shirt that Yuuri manages to drift off with the tv as white noise. 

He dreams, over and over, of Victor in the shirt holding him at sunset while they stand at Hasetsu’s shoreline. There are fireworks, red, green, and gold explosions in the sky, and Yuuri drops to one knee with a black velvet box.

_\----_

Yuuri stands rinkside at the appointed time for the men’s practice before the free program. He’s in his JSF jacket, his favorite long sleeved navy shirt, and a pair of black Mizuno sweatpants that are a little baggy. He arches his back to crack his lower vertebrae, satisfied by the loud pop that results. 

Yakov is next to him in a puffer jacket and a pair of jeans. It’s the most casual Yuuri’s ever seen him dressed. Yakov gives him a neutral expression. “Run through the program,” he instructs with a curt tone. 

Yuuri half-nods as he holds onto the barrier to take off the skate guards. 

He pauses when he realizes how wrong it feels, then he shakes it off, puts in his earbuds, and does a few laps to warm up. The song on his phone isn’t his program music, not yet. It’s a playlist he made specifically about Victor, because he is a huge sap on the downlow and will never, ever tell him except perhaps as a final deathbed confession.

_You are my sweetest downfall---I loved you first, I loved you first. Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth. I have to go, I have to go...your hair was long when we first met---_

He practices a couple jumps to loosen up, careful to avoid JJ and Seung Gil as they do the same. He does a Salchow and nails it. His favorite, a Triple Axel is next. The Toe Loop, perfect as usual. 

He’s warmed up.

Yuuri pauses the ballad. It’s grudging, but he does it. Yakov looks impatient, like he wants him to get on with things. He positions himself where he can practice without interference, switching the playlist to the one with “Yuri On Ice.”

The piano starts, and Yuuri begins to skate. It’s not quite there---not like it has been, not like Beijing---but he keeps going, he perseveres because his Vitya needs him to whether he’s here or not. His skates carve a path into the rink, and he tries to lose himself in the movements, in the dance elements and the sound of the violin when it joins in with the piano.

The violin is Vitya, and the piano is him. When the song goes back to just piano as he glides into the Ina Bauer, he remembers how much better it sounds as a duet than a solo.

In spite of the lack of...something, he almost nails it. 

Almost because he attempts the Quad Flip and takes a header, rolling across the ice a few times onto his back. He bites back a rude word as he scrubs his hand down his face. He needs to not do this---he needs perfection today. 

He gets up, making eye contact with Yakov. Yakov doesn’t look happy, but when has he ever? Yuuri sure hasn’t seen it. The coach raises a hand, two fingers pointed to the ceiling, and he twirls them in a few circles. “Again,” he requests with the gesture.

After the third attempt and failure, Yakov looks openly exasperated. He gestures for Yuuri to come back. Yuuri switches to the other playlist since he’s at the far end of the rink. He stops in front of Yakov, pausing the song and pulling out his earbuds. He looks up at him with a question in his eyes. Yakov’s own expression is contemplative, his eyes narrowed in thought. “You can’t even do the Quad Flip in practice?”

Yuuri shrugs and looks to the side at Yuri. Madam Baranovskaya is really putting him through his paces, Yuuri hearing her lecture her charge about beauty and strength. He turns back to Yakov. “I can’t land a jump if I don’t even attempt it,” he says. “It’s Vitya’s…” He stops. “Well. It’s essential.”

Yakov’s eyebrows rose at the use of the diminutive, though his face is a combination of shock and complacency. “Vitya,” he repeats.

Yuuri’s cheeks heat. He clears his throat, avoiding his gaze. Yakov has to know, of course Yakov has to know---he was in Beijing, he saw the kiss, but maybe Yakov knows but doesn’t _know_.

Yakov’s sigh is deafening. “Just---practice your steps,” he commands with a bit of a growl.

“ _Hai_ ,” Yuuri says with a bow, defaulting to what feels most familiar and respectful. Yakov’s doing him a gigantic favor---no matter how he may be inclined to argue or defend himself, it’s inappropriate out of deference to Victor and out of respect for the fact he’s inconvenienced Yakov and Yuri.

Yuuri skates back to his spot, not changing the music this time. Phichit would never let him hear the end of it if he saw this playlist---he loves picking on Yuuri for his “girl singers.” Yuuri gets petulant and reminds him they should be “female vocalists, Phichit, they work hard and have a lot of talent.” 

The song changes.

_She says you’re a masochist for falling for me, so roll up your sleeves. And I think that I like her ‘cause she tells me things I don’t want to hear---medicinal tongue in my ear. When will it stop? When will it stop? When will I feel all soft on the inside? When will I feel all soft on the inside? When will I feel all soft, soft---_

He runs through his steps to the guitar. It’s slower than the program music so he won’t wear himself out too much. He does the Ina Bauer in spite of Yakov not requesting it. His mind is thousands of miles and an ocean away in a small beach town in Saga prefecture.

Track changes, Yuuri does his spins. He loses his balance and lands on his ass like a rank amateur. Yuri appears as if summoned by saying his name three times. He rolls his eyes at him. “Jesus, Katsudon,” he complains as he extends a hand.

Yuuri takes it, letting Yuri pull him off the ice. He stands and brushes the slush off the back of his now-wet pants and jacket. “Thanks,” Yuuri says. 

Yuri looks oddly sympathetic though he refuses to meet Yuuri’s eyes, his green ones darting everywhere else. “Get it together,” Yuri half-snaps. “It’s worthless beating you if you won’t put your back into it.”

He skates back to Madam Baranovskaya, and Yuuri watches him with a shake of his head. He’ll likely never understand the kid as he’s the very definition of someone who runs hot or cold with no warning. 

Time’s up, and they all exit. Yuuri realizes unlike two days ago, he didn’t notice anyone not directly in his sphere of influence. He puts his guards back on his skates and looks around at the other men in his category. 

JJ is the very picture of a self-assured champion as he talks to his parents, but like during the short program in the green room Yuuri notices something’s not quite right. There’s tension in the lines around his mouth as he smiles, in the rigidity of his shoulders and spine. It’s probably just the normal pressure, Yuuri decides. He won gold at Skate Canada so expectations are high. 

Seung Gil looks tense in a different way. He’s grim-faced unlike his usual neutral expression. His coach says something about Pyeongchang and how he can make it, that she has faith. She means the Olympics, Yuuri realizes. He’s not been to one himself, but there has been talk from the JSF that in 2018---retired or not---his presence on Team Japan will be strongly sought after. He thinks they’re out of their minds, but he can’t outright refuse. 

He hasn’t mentioned it to Victor, because he knows he’ll be so excited about the idea even though Yuuri isn’t sure he wants to go.

Emil is happy and excited. He’s asking Mickey to go base jumping with him. Yuuri tries to imagine suggesting base jumping, but Celestino’s loud disapproval is what his brain supplies instead of Victor’s more polite refusals. Not that he’d do it in the first place because heights like that horrify him. Mickey sounds like he feels the same way. Emil shrugs and compromises by offering cage diving with Great Whites in Cape Town. 

How does his coach not prohibit this? Yuuri is flabbergasted. Though, South Africa sounds nice since it’s summer there. They have beautiful beaches and mountains to hike. It’d be fun, he thinks, to watch lions with Victor on one of those safaris that end in a dinner of _boerewors_ and _braaibroodjies_ paired with a wine tasting from a local vineyard.

Yuuri is smacked with the realization he’s become someone who likes wine tastings. God, how is this a thing? What changed?

Victor Mikhailovich Nikiforov, that’s what.

Yuuri bites back a noise. He’s become one of those people who assimilates their partner’s preferences. He remembers the night before when out of all of the options on the room service menu he picked Victor’s favorites. He didn’t even think about it---he went completely on autopilot. 

Maybe Victor is the same? Though, he can’t recall noticing anything offhand besides his mom’s katsudon.

Yuuri cracks his neck in four spots and grabs his bag, heading to the locker room. Yakov watches him go without offering any feedback. Just as well---the mood he’s in, he’d likely act the way he did at Chugoku and ignore him.

From what Victor’s told him, Yakov’s used to it.

The playlist runs through more tracks, and he puts in the combination on his locker. The garment bag with the indigo and purple costume is already present, and Yuuri shuffles through his things to get ready. 

_Heart beats fast, colors and promises...how to be brave? How can I love when I’m afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow. One step closer---I have died everyday waiting for you...darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more---_

The sweats and jacket get removed as he holds his phone in between his lips so he doesn’t have to stop the music. He puts on his dance belt and then the navy blue trousers. The embellished purple shirt is followed by the indigo beaded blazer, and Yuuri stops to tug his sleeves down to where they belong. He rubs his eyes for a moment, then tucks his phone into the deep v-neck of the purple shirt like he always sees girls do with their bras. He grabs his hair gel and make up bag after putting his glasses in a hard case on the locker shelf. 

Yuuri combs and then gels back his hair in an over-the-sink mirror. Next to him, Yuri braids half of his blond locks before pulling all of his hair into a ponytail using an elastic held between his teeth. 

It’s interesting---he’s never seen Yuri’s face unobstructed before. He isn’t bad looking for a kid, Yuuri supposes. He’s got a long way to go in terms of his appearance maturing, but Yuuri gets now why he’s called the Russian Fairy.

Yuri puts on a coating of a neutral pink lip gloss that has a hint of gold shimmer. Yuuri carefully sponges foundation primer over his face with a beauty blender thing Victor bought him. Yuri presses his lips together, spreading the gloss, and then he blots. As Yuuri finishes his face, their eyes meet in the mirror. 

Yuri says something that can’t be heard over the music. Yuuri takes out his left earbud. “Sorry?

“That looks better up close,” Yuri repeats as he checks his hair for bumps or pieces that stick out. He spots a lump and puts in some gold bobby pins to flatten it down.

“What does?” Yuuri asks as he opens a black and metallic red lipstick case. He’s used the same color his entire career ever since Minako bought the first tube as a good luck gift. Victor actually approves of both the shade and the brand: MAC’s Viva Glam II. He applies it, careful not to make a mess or go too far over his natural lip line. 

“The costume. You look---” Yuri says before thinking better of it. “You’re not hideous.”

Yuuri manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I’ll let Victor know---he picked it out.”

Somehow that comment decimates Yuri’s good will as he says something in Russian Yuuri can’t catch. “Of course he did,” he then adds in a snit. He grabs his make up and storms away, ponytail bouncing from side to side. Yuuri stares at his back with a raised eyebrow and then finishes his own make up. He washes the foundation off his hands, which this new liquid one was also a gift from Victor. 

He has to admit, it matches his skin tone a lot better than the old one. He just can’t deal with the pricetag. _It’s Dior, lapochka! You get what you pay for!_ was all the reply he got. 

Anyways, he heads back and locks the bag up with his his warm up clothes and glasses. He puts on his JSF jacket and sticks the phone back in his pocket. Yuuri cracks the knuckles on both hands and heads out with his competition to warm back up. The track changes. 

_To know, know, know him, is to love, love, love him...just to see that smile makes my life worthwhile. To know, know, know him, is to love, love, love him...and I do. And I do. And I do---_

Yuuri ties up his skates and removes the guards. He heads out for the six minute warm up.

It’s time.

_\-----_

Having outscored everyone with the exception of JJ, Yuuri is second to last. He stays to himself backstage with his earbuds. He stretches his arms in circles and tries to ignore his competition. Yakov is nearby, not as close as Victor would be, but Yuuri senses his eyes on him as he moves around to settle his anxious energy.

Emil does a program about being a robot, which is a unique choice. His costume is patterned like some kind platonic ideal of the 1980s version of how computer hackers dress. He does pretty decently from what Yuuri catches, but truthfully he’s not paying him much mind. 

There’s some weird drama between Sara and Mickey. She’s not with him like normal, and Mickey seems shaken up, like he may lose it. It’s not Yuuri’s concern but he hopes it doesn’t mess up his ability to perform. 

Mickey skates, and he does really well. He’s advanced to at least bronze most likely. Though---he’s seriously ugly crying, to borrow a phrase Phichit likes. Also Sara just booked it to the Kiss and Cry; she is also distraught. Yuuri sighs and shakes his head. 

He sees Seung Gil return from his performance once he’s done, and Yuuri almost calls out to him when he sees the open pain and bitter tears on his face. He thinks better of it as they don’t know each other well, casting his eyes away quickly so he doesn’t further invade his privacy.

Yuri skates his program and...Jesus. He put six of his jumps in the second half? Yuuri can’t even do that with his high stamina...Yuri is _fifteen_. How is he not dead? How is he not being scraped off the ice? Victor can’t do it, Yuuri can’t do it, JJ can’t do it, and Chris can’t do it. Damn. His skating was flawless, his technical points are out of this world, and he’s just guaranteed his slot in the GPF. 

There’s two left, Yuuri notes, since he doesn’t think Phichit is going to be cut. 

Yuuri squares his shoulders and removes the earbuds. He passes his jacket and the phone to Yakov. Yakov gives him a nod as if he’s offering some kind of taciturn _ganbatte_. Yuuri nods in reply and skates to the center ice.

Yuuri assumes his beginning pose, eyes aimed at his skates. Victor on his knees fixing his laces passes through his thoughts---Victor’s smile, Victor’s hand in his, Victor’s inflection on his pet name, Victor’s kisses, Victor’s arm around his waist in bed...Victor Victor _Victor_. Yuuri’s vision swims, and he isn’t sure if it’s another panic attack or if he’s about to burst into tears. He swallows some thick saliva, and the question goes unanswered when his music starts.

He skates sloppy, he knows that right away. He lacks polish, but he fills his movements and his steps with longing, his love for Victor showing the way it did in China. No, it shows even more this time...he knows it’s visible in his eyes, the set of his lips, the arc of his hands---

 _Please feel me,_ he thinks. _If you’re watching, please Vitya, I beg of you...please see this and understand how much I need you, that you’re my world, the love of my life---_

Predictably, he goes down on the 4F and gets right back up to finish. His breathing hurts as he stands still during the last notes, reaching for a man who is across the sea six time zones ahead. He holds out his arm anyways to the spot Victor belongs, a mirage of silver hair and blue eyes wearing a bespoke Italian suit and a soft smile in his line of sight. 

The crowd cheers as Yuuri bows. He exits the rink, ignoring the objects thrown this time, and he puts the JSF jacket back on to join Yakov in the Kiss and Cry. They sit in awkward silence as they await his scores.

Yakov gives him a look. “You’re not taking advantage of the program Vitya made you,” he chastises. “Your transition into the Ina Bauer was nothing less than a mess, and what was that on the Quad Flip? You have the makings of a great skater, so you should---”

It’s so like Victor it hurts and comforts all at once. Yuuri leans into him, hugging the coach tight as he buries his face in his chest. Yakov sputters twice. “ _Spasiba_ ,” Yuuri says. 

Yakov blinks and pats his back a few times like Yuuri is a dog that scares him. The score is announced, and they turn towards the screen---his combined tally is about the same as Mickey, though he falls a hair short. Mickey is going to get the bronze today which is a disappointment, but as Yuuri has a previous silver medal he will advance to Spain. 

That is definitely not a let down.

Yakov looks at the numbers. “You did better than I assumed,” he admits with a subtle note of pride. He extends his hand, and Yuuri shakes it. Then the two of them head backstage.

Yuuri pays zero attention to JJ because he knows he’ll make it. He’s too consistently on point. He plays the tracklist on his phone called Victor again for a while until the medal ceremony, and he listens to Rihanna croon a love song.

_Not really sure how to feel about it, something in the way you move makes me feel like I can’t live without you, it takes me all the way. I want you to stay---_

When the dust settles, JJ wins gold again, Yuri another silver, and though Mickey does end up with the bronze, Yuuri is the one in the Final. JJ, Yuri, Chris, Otabek, Phichit, and him---they’re the chosen six.

In that moment, he gets what an older song meant. He’s won something that he worked hard for---but he has no one to share it with, and that makes his victory rather empty. Yakov is more excited Yuri made it, which is perfectly fair...but Yuuri is all alone. 

Sara and Mickey come backstage, Mickey with his bouquet and medal. Yuuri takes out his earbuds since his phone’s about to die. He needs the battery for calling Victor. “---don’t have to watch me tomorrow,” Sara says. Mickey barely begins to counter when Sara spots Yuuri and lights up. “Yuuri! Congratulations----I knew you’d make it!”

Her arms are wide open, her smile bright and sparkling---before he knows it, Yuuri wraps her in a hug. She smells like apricots and honey, her hair is soft down her back but differently from Victor’s. “Thank you.”

Mickey flips out. Yuuri makes eye contact, releases Sara, and grabs Mickey. Mickey may or may not have died---he emits a loud, weird gurgle like he’s been poisoned. Whatever. Yuuri got his hug.

“Hey is that Mickey screaming---” calls Emil. 

New target acquired. 

Yuuri glomps Emil. “Oh, this is nice! Are we having a hugging competition now?” Emil rubs circles in Yuuri’s back and tightens their embrace. Yuuri appreciates the reciprocity.

Seung Gil passes, and Yuuri strikes. He has no idea at all why he’s acting like this as he barely knows these people and he hardly even hugs Phichit, but he does remember how sad Seung Gil looked earlier. Seung Gil turns an odd shade of gray and doesn’t return the favor. 

JJ is now backstage yelling about something or other. Yuuri hugs him. JJ tenses hard, and when Yuuri pulls back he looks like Yuuri has begun chasing him with a chainsaw. He looks scared shitless. 

By a hug. 

From Yuuri. 

What? Why?

Yuri is next, and Yuuri can’t even catch him. “Stay away from me, Katsudon!” he shouts as he flees. He’s small and quick like, appropriately, a cat so Yuuri kind of stumbles around at a loss. A ridiculous American song comes into his mind or at least the tag line about how the lady falls to pieces every time she sees a man’s face. 

He doesn’t fall to pieces seeing Victor, but he’s falling apart without him. 

Yuuri seizes his chance and changes before the others. He gathers his things and puts them up at the hotel. It’s freezing and there’s some snow, but he can’t stay in his room again he thinks as he bundles up. Ice crunches under his shoes as he wanders while selecting Victor in his favorites. 

He’s number one, Yuuri having put him there after the Cup of China.

The phone rings enough times the call goes to voicemail. Yuuri’s heart drops into his stomach, until his call waiting beeps.

 _Boku no Koibito_ says the caller ID with the Tanabata selfie of them. 

His heart lifts, a little too high as it ends up in his throat. “Hi,” he says.

“Yuuri! Hi!” Victor sounds tired, relieved, and loving. 

“I made it,” Yuuri answers.

“Oh Yuuri!” Victor perks up, infusing the phone call with a ray of light. “Yuuri, I’m so proud! I want to be there right now---I’d take you someplace nice, we’d celebrate all night---”

“I know,” Yuuri says. He struggles not to cry. Calling may have been a bad idea---he aches more than he did an hour ago. “I’m not going to talk long. I’m tired, Vitya---exhausted really, but I wanted---” He chokes and fights through it. “I wanted you to hear it from me first, and I didn’t want to just text you.”

There’s a long pause. “Oh, _lapochka_ ,” Victor says. He doesn’t continue.

“How’s Makkachin?” Yuuri says to change the subject. 

He can’t keep talking about them---he’ll say too much, he’ll turn things awkward or weird or possibly even tense. He swallows the words he wants to use so he can keep their romance where it belongs. If he starts he won’t stop, and he’ll blurt out so much with such volume Victor will run. It makes sense and is his way at this point.

“So good,” Victor says. “He came home a few hours ago. He’s a bit groggy from being knocked out, but he’s better. He’ll be perfect when you get back.”

Yuuri chokes up again. “Can I change my flight for the morning?” he asks. His voice is timid. His hands tremble. His heart floods.

“I wish I could say yes,” Victor answers with obvious pain. “But as a Grand Prix Finalist, it’s impolitic for you to skip the Gala and the banquet, especially as you didn’t medal. You’ll look---”

“Like a bad sport,” Yuuri finishes as he recalls Celestino and a mention of mini-pizzas from Sochi last December. He can’t remember anything else aside from a crystal flute or two of Belle Epoque, but he knows Celestino made him go for appearances. “I know. I had to try, Vitya. I miss you so much...I just had to try.”

“I know, _lapochka_ ,” Victor says. “If it wouldn’t give you bad PR or cause a backlash from the ISU…”

“I know,” Yuuri says. He tries to think of something else to say---there’s nothing. Two days give or take. He can get through two days. “I’m going to go, Vitya, but---I’ll see you soon.”

“Good night, Yuuri. I love y---” Victor is cut off.

Yuuri looks at his phone and sees that the battery just died. Shit. He’ll apologize when he’s home. He takes in his surroundings---he’s somehow walked from the hotel to behind, of all things, a guardrail by a busy road. He thinks he can retrace his path but...well maybe not, as his sole focus was his lover’s words and voice. He looks skyward and sees the hotel’s neon sign to the left and back a few blocks. 

Whew.

He doesn’t move, because he realizes---the disappointment, the uncertainty….this is all why he almost quit last time. He’s decent, but he’s seldom good, and he’s never, ever great. He’s just shy of 24 with no championships or medals from the major international competitions. He muddles through, his career is fair-to-middling. Even with Victor raising him up, he’s...passable. Not amazing.

Victor can still come back, though, if he has the time to do so. He’s sacrificed so much, Yuuri thinks again. He’s sacrificed his winning streak at the GPF, proximity to his loved ones, part of his healthy bond with Yakov, even most of his religious practices---and it’s all because Yuuri skated a program of his. 

Yuuri didn’t ask Victor to come, but he did anyways because he saw something in Yuuri that, for whatever reason, made Victor decide to sacrifice his own competitions for him. He gives, he gives every day, every hour and moment…

Yuuri can give, too.

He can give Victor the best gift he has to offer---he can give him his freedom. He can release him like an injured bird he healed, let him take wing back to the sky where he belongs by ending his coaching role after the Grand Prix Final.

Yuuri’s fists clench. His eyes cast down to the slush below his feet. 

He was right that this thing---their connection---has always been fleeting. Yuuri’s held onto Victor, the knowledge that their time together has been borrowed always there in the back of his mind, and well...Yuuri has the full comprehension that he’s quite late.

All he wants in this world is to hold Victor tight, to never let him go, but he’s stifling him...he’s trapped him, and he will die if Yuuri doesn’t loosen his grip. Maybe not literally, maybe he won’t kill himself, but his love for Yuuri, his desire for him will wither and choke leaving only resentment when Victor realizes all he’s lost.

Yuuri doesn’t know how to let him go. He has to let him go---but how?

Before he can come up with an answer, something hard hits him from the right and he falls down in an ungraceful heap. “Ow,” he complains half-heartedly.

“Oi! Katsudon!” snaps a familiar voice. Yuuri rolls onto his back, propped on his elbows as he sees Yuri Plisetsky standing imperious above him. He has a hoodie on under his FFKKR jacket that’s pulled up over his now-loose hair. “Why are _you_ moping?”

Yuuri sighs, partially because he feels he’ll sound like a baby and partially because of Yuri’s weird damage when Victor gets mentioned. He doesn’t get a chance to talk, though.

“I did everything I could, nearly killed myself, pulled out all the stops, and I still only finished second to JJ,” Yuuri says, his words loud in that way a person gets when they feel an injustice has been served upon them. “You---you had the excuse of Victor being gone---” His words are strangely bitter about that. “But I tried my hardest and still came up short! You don’t get to be sadder than me! You just...you just don’t!”

In a weird way it puts the night in perspective. “Yeah,” Yuuri concedes. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Yeah, same,” Yuri replies. Then a brown paper bag lands on Yuuri’s chest. It’s heavy somehow, full of something with heft. “Here.”

Yuuri picks up the bag while standing. He unrolls the top of it. “What is---”

“It’s your birthday soon, right?” Yuri interrupts as he looks at his red leopard Vans. “So. Here. Happy birthday. Or whatever.”

Yuuri pulls out a handmade pirozhki. “Hm,” he says. “Thank you.” He bites into it, and his eyebrows knit together. “Wait, there’s rice in this? And a fried egg and a pork cutlet---” He swallows. “Is this a katsudon pirozhki?”

“That’s right!” Yuri beams up at him. He looks---pure. He looks like the happy teenager he should always be. Yuuri has no recourse but to smile back. “My _Dedushka_ made them special! Eat up!”

Yuuri passes one to Yuri. “Only if you share with me.”

Yuri’s smile widens. “Deal.” He takes a huge bite. They start to walk back to the hotel together, not talking in lieu of eating the definitely-not-on-either-of-their-diet-plans snacks. “How’s the mutt, by the way?”

“He’s okay,” Yuuri answers with a half-smile between bites. “Victor brought him home earlier.”

Yuri scowls. “I can’t believe he bailed on you like that. He’s such an ass.”

“I forced him to,” Yuuri says. “I wouldn’t have let it drop if he hadn’t. He knows that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Yuri grumbles as he finishes his pirozhki. Once he swallows the large mouthful he clears his throat. “If it’d been me, no argument would have made me go.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to counter-argue when he looks at Yuri’s face---there’s a slight blush on his cheeks, and his eyes are aimed towards the invisible stars thanks to the Moscow light pollution. His tone is seemingly casual, but---

Oh. 

_Oh_. 

Pushing aside the ill-timed mental image of Phichit shouting HE CAN BE TAUGHT, Yuuri bites into dough, rice, and pork. He takes his time chewing to figure out what the hell he can possibly say. When he was Yuri’s age he’d had a piece of his heart set on Yuuko, but that was the year she gave Takeshi chocolates on Valentine’s for the first time. 

Yuuri hadn’t been bold enough to make any for her, but she excitedly told him all about them and how tasty they were. He listened with a stilted smile and congratulated her before going home and lying on his back below his favorite poster of a long-haired teen Victor in metallic blue and a crown of roses to match. 

He considers what he’d have wanted Yuuko to say had he been brave enough to confess. “Yeah, you’re stubborn like that,” Yuuri says with levity and a bit of a laugh. “Never found a closed door you won’t break down with an axe, that’s our Yurio.”

Yuri’s still blushing, but he no longer needs to avoid eye contact. Good. “Damn right,” Yuri says. “The Ice Tiger of Russia always fights and gets what he wants! Nothing will stand in my way!”

Yuuri laughs as he finishes his food. There’s one left in the bag, he notes as he shows Yuri. “Wanna split it?” he asks.

“Nah. I had, like, three before I skated,” Yuri says as he waves him off. “Thought Lilia was gonna string me up.”

Yuuri laughs. “Celestino gets the same way,” he adds. “He has a full lecture about carbs that Phichit and I got subjected to so many times. So many we have it memorized, and I’d rather get the ISU drug protocol lectures instead.”

“Ugh, that thing sucks so bad,” Yuri moans. “No caffeine, no Ritalin, no pot, no Lance Armstrong style shadiness...we get it! Let us skate!”

“I hear the Olympic committee is worse,” Yuuri says. “It’s less about doping and more about debauchery.”

“Gross,” Yuri says as his complexion goes green. His tongue sticks out like an angry cat. How fitting. “I want no part of that crap.”

“Then they’ll like you, I guess,” Yuuri says with a shrug. He bites into the pirozhki, savoring it. “Can I get the recipe for these?”

“Sure!” Yuri says. “I’ll get it from _Dedushka_ and DM it to you on Twitter.”

“Thanks, Yurio,” Yuuri says. He wants to make them for Victor, give him a taste of both of his homes in one convenient package. He realizes he should make him his favorite breakfast too, the omurice Phichit also fell in love with in Detroit. Victor loves his mother’s tomago, so he should let him try the omurice.

Wait. Victor hates tomatoes. So he won’t like omurice as they require quite a bit of ketchup, will he? Hm. 

Yuuri ponders this as they enter the heated lobby of their hotel. He didn’t realize he was so cold until that moment, his body shivering so hard he can’t play it off. He finishes the last two bites and tosses the paper bag in a nearby receptacle. 

Madam Baranovskaya walks towards the hotel lounge with her sleek brown hair down in a middle part. She has on an elegant black boat-necked top and a slim pair of black pants. Her shoes are an embellished black pair of Oscar de la Renta heels, and Yuuri watches her move with a mixture of awe and envy. Heads turn every few feet as she passes, though she does not deign to notice the attention of such plebeians.

Jesus. What a lady. If it wouldn’t arguably offend Minako, he’d prostrate himself at her feet so she can teach him her ways.

Yuri leaves. “Yurio!” Yuuri calls.

The self-proclaimed (because Yuuri knows without googling literally no one else calls him this) Ice Tiger gives him a curious look. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri says with a slight bow. “Thanks.”

“Whatever, Katsudon,” Yuri says, but the slight smile on his lips betrays his bored tone. He prowls to the elevator banks, disappearing from sight. Yuuri’s still fairly hungry. He didn’t eat much before the competition, and two pirozhki won’t cut it. 

Yuuri heads to the more casual hotel restaurant, not wanting to be upstairs alone again. He looks around, and he sees Seung Gil by himself at the bar. He has no food in front of him, so maybe he just sat down. There’s a drink, though, that doesn’t look like it’s been touched---a mug of some kind of golden beer. 

“Hi,” Yuuri says shyly as he stands at the empty chair to Seung Gil’s right. “Mind if I sit here?”

“No,” Seung Gil replies. He’s looking at his phone. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri replies. He takes off his overcoat, beanie, and scarf. He folds his hygiene mask and slips it into the coat pocket, then he sits on the stool next to Seung Gil. The bartender, a classically pretty woman with auburn hair, asks him to call her Svetlana. He orders a vodka soda, and she pours it lightning-quick as she hands him a dinner menu.

Yuuri tries to figure out an ice breaker, but it’s hard since Seung Gil won’t take his eyes off his phone. “You know Phichit, right? Phichit Chulanont?”

Seung Gil looks at him then. “We met in Juniors, yes.”

“He was my roommate in Detroit,” Yuuri says with a smile as he adjusts his glasses. “He’s my closest friend, too.”

Seung Gil nods. “Does he still have his hamsters?”

“Yeah, he does,” Yuuri says. He recalls what Phichit told him. “I don’t have hamsters, but I spent a lot of time with his over the years. I actually have a dog, Makkachin. He’s a standard poodle.”

Seung Gil lights up for the first time that Yuuri’s ever seen. “I like standard poodles. I’m not much for smaller dogs sometimes depending on their personality, but I love big ones.”

“You have a dog, too, right?” Yuuri asks. “A Husky?”

Seung Gil shows Yuuri his screen---it’s thousands of photos of a beautiful blue-eyed Siberian Husky. “Hyun is my pride and joy,” he says.

“Oh wow, what a pretty dog,” Yuuri says. He takes the offered phone and scrolls. She’s soft and gentle looking with a big, bright smile, crystal blue eyes two shades lighter than Victors, and a pure white and charcoal coat. 

A familiar pair of female voices ring out over the noise of the bar. “Yuuri! Seung Gil!” Sara calls. Mila is with her, and she has a bright grin on her face. Her hair’s pulled up, and Yuuri sees that Mila actually gets a side shave in her hair. It suits her, he decides. “Don’t sit all night by yourselves---come join us at a table!”

Seung Gil looks wary but instead of acting callous as he did the day they arrived, he gives a small nod. Yuuri leaves cash plus tip for the vodka, Seung Gil doing the same for his beer, and the two of them sit with the girls at a round table. 

Sara spends a lot of time focusing on Seung Gil, and though his replies are taciturn he treats her with more civility than he did before. 

This leaves Mila and Yuuri. 

“So,” she asks when their food arrives. “Victor’s kept his lips sealed pretty tight. What made you go from coach and skater to---” She waves a hand.

Yuuri freezes mid-bite. He’s not really been asked this before, and saying _I asked him to settle the lingering concern of my virginity, and I stumbled into loving him after_ kind of seems like a poor choice of response. “Ah, well...it started casual? And just...from there---”

There’s a look in Mila’s eyes that Yuuri isn’t sure how to read, but he can see she’s at least a bit pleased. “That’s good,” she says. “We all wondered when he left to coach you, I admit. Yakov was unbearable for weeks! He wouldn’t stop losing it whenever Victor was brought up. When Yuri followed him, Yakov allowed it since he promised to drag Victor back kicking and screaming.”

Yuuri blanches. He suspects Victor has no idea about this---though, given what Yakov said initially to him in Beijing, he probably has an inkling. “Oh.”

“No, no,” Mila says as she waves her hands. “Don’t feel guilty! Victor does what he wants! He was talking about possibly taking a year off anyways! You gave him a way to fill the time, that’s all.”

Yuuri swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Of course!”

“He’s so happy though,” Mila continues. “You’re the cause for that.”

Yuuri’s smile instantly warms. “Really?”

Mila winks and grins. “Definitely!”

Yuuri gives her a bright, shy smile. “Thanks. He makes me happy, too.”

Mila sips her seltzer. “Good. You’re definitely cute together, and he’s so smitten...I’m glad to hear the feelings are mutual.”

“They are,” Yuuri says with open fondness. 

Loud grousing fills the room followed by excited counter-points, heralding the arrival of Mickey and Emil. At first Mickey looks aggro that Sara is with them, but then he sighs and pulls up a seat. Emil follows, the rest of them crowding close so they can fit. The boys order food and drinks, and they all chat. 

Yuuri mostly observes, his natural introvertedness taking over without Victor or Phichit acting as his buffer. He replies when asked questions, occasionally asking one of his own when he’s curious. He picks up his dead phone halfway through the night with a frown, as he’d forgotten the battery was drained.

“Oh hey,” Emil as he pulls out a thin black pad about the size of an iPhone. “Here’s my portable charger. You can use it if you need to!”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says with a smile. He sets his phone on the pad thing and within a minute, it reboots. Once the white screen clears, Yuuri enters his passcode. He’s flooded with texts that must have come in while it was off, and every last one is congratulatory. 

_Dude, Yuuri! Conga rats in party hats!_ followed by a thumbs up from Leo.

 _Good job, Yuuri! You’ll do great in Spain!_ from Guang-Hong.

 _Yuuri we are so proud! Call when you have a chance!_ from Yuu-chan.

 _Oh my god, I wish I had been there! I knew I should have picked Moscow instead! Yuuri, I can’t believe it!_ That’s Minako.

 _You owe me a ticket! I haven’t forgotten!_ Of course that’s Mari.

 _I knew you had it in you---you just had to believe it yourself! See you in Spain!_ is Celestino, and Yuuri’s spirits lift from his approval even now.

 _YUURI! WE DID IT! WE BOTH DID IT! WE’RE GOING TO BE IN BARCELONA TOGETHER AT THE FINAL!_ starts Phichit. There's a second message: _Of course I must kill you now. There can be only one._ Yuuri snorts out loud. 

_Félicitations mon merveilleux ami!_ with all the champagne emoji from Chris. Yuuri can figure out the gist.

His father sent him a joint text from his mother. _Good job, son! You did it again! When you get home, can you spare an hour or two to autograph some menus and posters? We’re very proud of you! Good job Yuuri!_ The bit about the autographs makes Yuuri sigh, but his dad means well so he lets it drop.

The last one, but by far the most significant, the one that makes him the happiest...it’s a new photo of Victor with Makkachin curled up by his chest. Makka has his eyes closed in a deep sleep. Victor’s hair is a mess, his eyes a bit red with purple bruising below them, but he’s beautiful, he’s so achingly beautiful Yuuri almost sobs. 

_We are so proud. Can’t wait to see you,_ with a row of blue hearts.

Yuuri replies to his first. A dozen blue hearts followed by, _I’m counting the minutes, koibito._ Then he makes his way through everyone else, trying to give them more than just a simple “thanks.” 

His phone is about half-charged when they pay their bills and call it a night. He hands the charger back to Emil with a smile, and Emil pats him on the back a few times with a wink. They part ways, Yuuri heading alone to an elevator when a hand taps on his shoulder.

Yuuri turns, taking a step back when he realizes it’s Yakov. “Hello,” he begins. He bows. “Thank you again for caring for me today.”

“I did it for Vitya,” Yakov gruffs. “But you’re welcome.”

Yuuri lifts his head. He nods, but he can sense Yakov isn’t done.

“Look,” Yakov begins. “You’re better than you know. You need to learn to live up to it---if you don’t, you’ll waste not only Vitya’s time but yours. Do better because you are capable of better. I won’t be happy if Yurochka beats you in a few weeks because you failed to reach your potential. Don’t give a repeat of Sochi.” He thinks of something, and his eyes narrow. “And I mean all of Sochi. Don’t do any of that again.”

“Yes, Coach,” Yuuri says, feeling that (strangely) he’s being chastised about something other than skating.

“One last thing,” Yakov continues. “I’m sure most people are convinced that Vitya will shatter your heart.” His mouth settles into a severe expression of disapproval. “I know better. If anyone’s going to break, it’s him because of you.”

Yuuri stares at Yakov in utter disbelief. 

“Don’t make me lose the respect for you I just gained,” Yakov finishes. “That’s all I ask.”

What does he even mean?

“I’ll do my best,” Yuuri responds in a flat voice. 

Yakov nods, and as he leaves he claps Yuuri on the shoulder. After staring after him until he’s out of sight, Yuuri takes a lift to his room, showers and puts on his pjs. He climbs into bed holding the shirt and pillow again after plugging his phone in to finish charging. His glasses go on the nightstand, and he falls asleep.

Just one more sleep, and he’ll be where he belongs.

_\-----_

In spite of bizarre circumstances where every time someone handed him a drink, Yuri Plisetsky appeared, carrying the alcohol away like a thief in the night with a shout of _nope!_ , Yuuri got through the banquet unscathed. JJ and Mickey’s gala programs were pretty nice, all told, but Yuri looked displeased with his, and Yuuri has to agree that it’s not really befitting of his personality.

Yuuri takes a cab to the airport alone and gets to the ticketing agent to check his bags. He hands her his passport to look him up in the computer. She locates him quickly and prints his boarding passes. Then she takes his bags, weighing them before putting the tags with their final destination of Fukuoka on them. 

Yuuri gets out his credit card since he’s got more luggage than can be checked for free on an international flight. The ticket agent gives him a funny look. “Sir? What is that for?”

“To pay for the bags,” Yuuri says. He’s tired, but he’s pretty sure he’s remembered how this works.

“All of your bags are checked free since you’re flying first class, Mister Katsuki,” she says. 

Yuuri freezes. He pulls out his boarding passes---yeah, he’s been upgraded, but he didn’t request it. How did---

Of _course_.

Yuuri unlocks his phone. _You colossal jerk._

Victor replies with the cry-laughing emoji and four blue hearts. _I regret nothing._

 _You wouldn’t,_ Yuuri replies with a smile that’s completely against his will. _I’m giving you an earful when I get home. Just wait._

_Let the kind, professional staff of Korean Air cater to your whims in the lounge and during the flight. You’ve earned at least a little proper relaxation and pampering._

_Fine. I’m still gonna yell at you._

Yuuri thanks the agent as he carries his papers and passport through all of the necessary security checkpoints. Once those tasks are complete, he finds the right terminal and even though he feels out of place, decides not to waste Victor’s surprise. He enters the appropriate lounge, showing his ticket, and the host seats him at a windowside table. 

There’s food, alcohol, and other beverages available to him all for free as he’s flying first, and Yuuri glances around multiple times as if he’s waiting for a bouncer to sniff out his bank balance and show him the door. An attractive blond sever with blue eyes comes to him. “Good morning, Mister Katsuki. May I start you off with a drink?”

Yuuri blinks up at him like a child caught washing the family car with steel wool. 

He grins and winks. “First time?” he whispers with kindness.

Yuuri nods with a sheepish smile.

The server nods and winks again. “I can always tell. Everything’s fine, Mister Katsuki. We’re at your disposal, and we’ll escort you personally when it’s time for your priority boarding call. Until then, allow us to accommodate you.” He points to part of the menu. “I tend to get a bit nervous about flying, just a slight phobia I have, so typically I have a glass of champagne for my nerves and a cup of our unique matcha blend. Do either of those sound pleasing?”

“Both,” Yuuri says in a bit of a daze. 

“Of course, sir,” he says. “I’ll get them for you immediately.” He disappears, and Yuuri opens and closes his hands a few times in disbelief. It’s like that first time Victor took him out somewhere high class, the lovely food handmade for them as live squid swam next to their table. He’s still adjusting to the restaurants, and this level of service for a flight leaves him dazzled. 

The server brings him a flute of sparkling brut champagne. Yuuri takes a sip, and his eyes light up at how smooth and delicious it is. “Oh,” he says. “That’s really good...I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Piotr,” he says as a woman in the same uniform brings Yuuri a cup of still-steeping matcha. “Also, if I may? Our bibimbap essentially melts in your mouth. It’s to die for.”

His stomach growls as he skipped breakfast before he left. “Okay, um...one of those,” Yuuri says with a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Piotr says. They both bow and take their leave. 

Yuuri unlocks his phone and scrolls through a folder in his camera roll named after Victor. It’s pictures of them together, mostly taken by Victor, though some are of him alone and therefore Yuuri’s responsibility. There are a few taken by others though, like the ones of them hosing off under an outdoor shower after a day soaking up the sun, sea, and sand. Makkachin photobombed them a few times as Mari snapped the candids without their notice---they were too busy horsing around, washing each other’s hair and splashing like kids. 

There’s another picture that Victor put on his Insta taken by some shy fans----he found it in their hashtags and reposted it with the caption “Time flies so fast.” They sat across from each other on a train in a mostly-empty car, and they gazed at each other with little besides devotion and love. 

There’s pictures his mom took using his phone of them together in the lounge laughing over a Manzai show. It took Victor a while to get that brand of comedy, but now he loves it an absurd amount. He also adores the more dangerous game shows, like the reruns of Takeshi’s Castle, so there are pictures of Victor that would make quality reaction memes if Phichit ever gets his hands on them.

Then there’s his favorite shot, even more than the Tanabata one. Yuuri had just gotten out of the bath, his hair still damp and his body fully relaxed in a way it is seldom without sex. He hesitated, but he managed to stammer a request for Victor to do his hair. Victor smiled and agreed, sitting above him while Yuuri knelt on the floor. Victor took his time with a comb, lavishing attention on Yuuri’s hair and scalp. It’s noticeably longer now, he pointed out, compared to his arrival, and Yuuri hummed with his eyes closed, too content to use words.

The Nishigoris were around that night to use the spring and have dinner, and at the time he and Victor were unaware the triplets snuck into the open doorway to snap a photo of the intimate moment. 

Yuuri still isn’t sure that Victor understands the full implications of the request as well as the actual act. The girls did, though, babbling in rapid-fire Japanese about Victor being his husband the next time they saw each other. Yuuri turned a deep red and flailed while begging them to stop, but Victor seemed to be occupied discussing something with their parents and didn’t notice.

He eats his bibimbap, and Piotr was right. It’s one of the best things Yuuri’s ever consumed anywhere in the world. He shouldn’t, but he ends up getting dessert anyways---it’s a special type of decadent chocolate tart that he knows Victor would absolutely adore. He washes it down with more matcha. There’s a shower in the lounge, but he did that back at the hotel before he left. Maybe in his layover in Seoul when he rests in the lounge there.

A smartly dressed Korean air rep greets him, informing him it’s his boarding call. Yuuri tips the waitstaff and follows the agent with his carry on to the gate. He’s shown to the plane by a different attendant, escorted to his sleeper seat with a personal touch. It’s all very bewildering, almost overwhelming, and Yuuri plugs in his cellphone so the charge won’t run down. There’s a wide variety of music selections, films, and television shows for him to partake. The meal service in first class is...nuts, for lack of a more elegant word. 

Yuuri adjusts the lapels of his blue peacoat. He says the hell with it because it’ll make Victor happy, and he grabs his phone. After finding the correct angle, he takes a selfie with a shy smile and runs it through Snapseed. Then he loads Instagram. 

_Surprise upgrade to first class thanks to a certain someone! Next stop: Grand Prix Final!_ with the kanji and English hashtags for his name as well as the GPF and Barcelona. He also hashtags---only in kanji--- _thank you, lover_. 

The likes and comments start flooding in surprisingly fast, probably because of the mention of the GPF. Phichit comments with some celebratory emoji and a winky face, and Yuuri rolls his eyes. 

It’s not quite 7:00 AM Moscow time, which means it’s lunch time in Hasetsu---Victor comments in kanji with _I’ll see you tonight when you land, and I’m bringing you another surprise,_ with a standard blue heart.

He has no idea what Victor can mean, but he’ll worry about it when he lands and gets through immigration. The flight attendant asks Yuuri what she can provide for him including choice of beverage for the flight---a blanket, an extra pillow, and he goes for broke with a second champagne. He has everything within a few minutes, and he puts his phone into the appropriate mode for air travel, plugs in his earbuds, and pulls up his Spotify library. 

String instruments flow once he turns on shuffle as he looks out the window and sighs.

_Tell me what you want to hear, something that will light those ears, sick of all the insincere...I'm gonna give all my secrets away. This time, don't need another perfect lie, don't care if critics ever jump in line...I'm gonna give all my secrets away---_

The flight instructions and announcements are audible over his music as he has it at a lower volume than usual. Flight duration, predicted weather patterns, service details, names of the first class cabin crew, and where to locate the meal service options are all fed to him by the captain or the crew. 

The plane begins to taxi, stuck in a holding pattern at the end of the runway while it waits for clearance. Yuuri stares at the marked asphalt and flashing colored lights next to it. The plane moves forward, gaining speed. The wheels go up and it takes off at an angle until it levels off high above the ground. 

Da svidanya, Yuuri thinks as gray sky gives way to light blue once they burst through the clouds.

Da svidanya.

_\-----_

The flights were uneventful, which is truly the best possible outcome for anyone in the history of aviation. Yuuri slept off and on, ate more than he should have because the flight crews were monsters who kept bringing food with no end in sight, cut himself off from the champagne after take off from Seoul, and he has been through an entire half of his Spotify library, though some of that is due to skipping a track he didn’t care for at that moment.

For example, all of the Britney Spears Phichit snuck onto it one day when he left his computer unattended during a run. He should delete those songs, but also they had a lot of fun fooling around and learning the dances from her older videos. Yuuri’s pretty sure he still knows I’m A Slave 4 U’s choreography, which Phichit is under threat of death to never reveal to anyone.

He’s actually taken that seriously, which is a welcome aberration.

His plane touches down in Fukuoka, and at this point time is a meaningless construct to Yuuri that provides him with no order in the entropy that is the real world. It’s after dark, that much he can tell. They deplane, Yuuri giving a borderline-groveling thank you speech to the crew, and he stretches as he pulls back on his mask. 

He follows the familiar signs to customs and immigration. He has nothing to declare since he didn’t buy anything too extravagant for his family’s _omiyage_ , and he’s got a Japanese passport so that’s a quick stamp and go as well. 

The bulk of the time spent awake was devoted to finding a way to let Victor go. Yuuri has the sense to recognize he doesn’t know how to let Victor go. This amounts to an impasse, but he has some time to figure out a way to send Victor back to his real life.

He sighs and keeps his eyes aimed ahead and down as he walks past a glass wall towards the area where people pick up their loved ones and help them to the baggage claim. A thud and a loud bark startle him out of his thoughts. 

Yuuri looks, and right there on his hind legs with an open grin is Makkachin. His tail waves back and forth so fast it’s almost a blur. The black pads on the bottom of his feet leave marks on the glass, as does his doggie breath while he pants in obvious cheer.

Yuuri scans the benches---there’s Victor not far from Makkachin. His hair is slightly neater than from the selfie he sent the night of the free skate, but the bags under his eyes are worse. He looks nervous, like he thinks Yuuri won’t be pleased to see him.

What an idiot his Vitya is. 

At that moment, Victor notices Makkachin moved, and he sees Yuuri through the glass. His eyes turn incandescent, and he leaps up, propelling Yuuri into motion as they both run towards the doors. Makkachin bounds alongside his papa, and Yuuri hates the damn automatic doors because they just won’t open as the rate he needs them to, his feet stomping in place until finally they slide apart.

Victor opens his arms, and Yuuri barrels into them with no care of their being in public. He grips Victor tight like he’s afraid he’ll vanish if he doesn’t, and he takes several steadying breaths. He relearns Victor’s smell, the cadence of his heart, the strength of his embrace. His eyes close and he buries his nose in his shoulder.

“Yuuri---” Victor begins, his voice somewhat hoarse. “I’ve been thinking about what I can do from now on as your coach.”

Yuuri’s heart freezes. 

No, not yet. Please not yet. 

“Me too,” Yuuri says. He gathers his strength and pushes Victor to arm’s length. Victor quasi-stumbles backwards with wide eyes as he looks at Yuuri. 

Yuuri uses the only thing he has.

“Please be my coach until I retire!” he begs in a voice that’s too loud, too raw. _Please hear what I’m really saying_ , he thinks.

Victor softens. He takes Yuuri’s left hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the ring finger, the wedding band finger. “It’s almost like a marriage proposal,” he says with pleasure and affection.

As his cheeks darken, Yuuri smiles. He doesn’t speak, but he pulls Victor close. They hold each other, Yuuri feeling one of Makkachin’s paws pressing into his thigh below the hem of his coat.

“I wish that you would never retire,” Victor whispers into his ear.

Yuuri’s eyes fill with tears. Victor hears him. Victor actually hears him. “Let’s...win gold together at the Grand Prix Final,” he manages, his voice wavering on the vowels like a new English speaker.

Victor holds him a little tighter. He lets him go after a quick squeeze, and they walk hand-in-hand with Makkachin to the bag claim. Everything of Yuuri’s arrived in the shape he checked it, and they carry everything to...Yu-Topia’s van.

Yuuri favors Victor with the Raised Eyebrow of Concern. “You don’t have a Japanese license,” he begins.

“I do not,” Victor replies as he finishes loading the luggage. Makkachin hops into the middle, daisy-fresh like he didn’t almost die.

“Russia drives on the right,” Yuuri continues, dumbfounded.

“That is how it works, yes,” Victor says as he gets in the driver’s seat.

Yuuri in a somewhat shellshocked manner opens the passenger door and sits in the chair. He continues giving Victor a wide-eyed look as he buckles up. “Do you...know what…”

Victor turns on the car and exits the parking spot. Yuuri considers praying to both his gods and Victor’s as precautionary measure. Logically, he got here without (presumably) murdering dozens so he shouldn’t worry, but he is. He and Phichit both learned in Detroit, but since Yuuri has been home he hasn’t gone anywhere he needed to operate a car himself. So he’s never driven on the proper side, and now Victor is doing it. Victor can do anything, Yuuri knows and believes this, but...it’s still nerve-wracking.

Victor’s fine, though. He’s careful and triple-checks before merging, he pays close attention to his GPS app, he keeps up with traffic at a decent pace. He’s a very good driver, Yuuri notes, unlike Phichit who doesn’t understand that speed limits aren’t a suggestion. 

Phichit who also never managed to actually get a ticket because he either flirted or fake-cried out of them. Yuuri has a brief moment of concern for Chris, that perhaps he should have warned him that Phichit is lowkey sinister on occasion. 

Oh well.

Yuuri is so distracted he fails to notice where they are upon arrival in Hasetsu. As in, it’s not Yu-Topia. It’s a house with beach access that isn’t too far from the Ice Castle. Yuuri narrows his eyes. “Vitya---” he starts.

“Hm?” Victor asks, halfway out of the car. He gives Yuuri a curious look.

“I’m not going to wake up tomorrow in a bathtub full of ice with a note that’s telling me to go to the hospital,” Yuuri says. “Right? Because I like having both kidneys. I think losing one might hinder my ability to skate in Barcelona, as a matter of fact---”

He trails off because the look Victor has given him is utterly priceless.

“Not familiar with that joke, I see,” Yuuri deadpans.

“That’s a joke?” Victor asks with a horrified expression. Makkachin barks nearby, disturbing the moment.

“Oh, I guess it’s an American thing,” Yuuri wonders, because mostly he’s heard it in reference to drinking too much during Spring Break trips. “Sorry. It’s...never mind.” He gets out of the car, looking at the house. It’s one story, but he can’t tell from the front how far back it extends. 

Yuuri is at a monumental loss. 

“I thought---” Victor starts, his tone oddly shy. “It’s probably very presumptuous of me.” He cringes, and his face contorts into a mask of blatant insecurity and worry.

Yuuri half-turns to him with his eyes wide.

“We leave for the Maldives not too long from now,” Victor tries instead. “I realize it’s not that far away, but...our separation was not kind to me.” He looks down and then back at Yuuri. “If you don’t want this we’ll go straight home, though if your family is a concern I’ve already promised that we will come for dinner and conversation at least four times a week until we fly to Spain…”

Yuuri turns back to the property, taking in both the appearance of the facade as well as the implications of Victor’s explanation. He gives Victor another look. “You want to play house?”

Victor’s voice stalls, some nameless emotion flashing in his eyes. “If you must refer to it as such.”

It only takes him a minute to consider it. Real privacy with no patrons swarming them, no nosy older sisters...and, Yuuri thinks he’d like to know what it’s like to really live with Victor. Live together like a couple, like people who are committed for the long haul so much they sign legal binding documents and share bills, groceries, expenses, closets, chores---

“It’s perfect,” Yuuri says. A bashful smile fills his face. “It’s...it’s perfect, Vitya. Thank you.”

The weight falls off Victor’s shoulders like dew drops from a bud. He lights up, his eyes full of stars and his smile like a shining moon. “Good,” he says. “Come.” 

He shoulders most of the burden of Yuuri’s belongings, but Yuuri takes the stuff out of his hands so he can unlock the door. Makkachin bolts ahead, his humans taking off their shoes by the front door as Victor switches on an overhead light. 

It’s tastefully decorated, though Victor wouldn’t have even considered booking it otherwise Yuuri knows. There’s a living room area with a comfy looking sofa, _kotatsu_ , and television. The kitchen’s decently sized and equipped, though of course not as industrial as the Yu-Topia kitchens. A hall leads presumably to the bedroom or bedrooms, he’s not sure how many there are. There’s a sliding door leading outside, but since it’s dark Yuuri isn’t too interested in exploring it.

Victor hangs his coat and scarf on a hook by the door. “It has an outside bath like Yu-Topia,” Victor says. 

Yuuri makes an agreeable sound as he hangs his coat and scarf too. He rubs his neck a few times, and Victor makes a cute yet baffled noise behind him. “What?” Yuuri asks as he looks over his shoulder.

“I was wondering if that had been left behind by mistake,” Victor says as he looks down at Yuuri’s shirt. “I suspect now it was no accident.”

Yuuri’s face turns hot pink. He forgot---he’d completely forgotten he wore Victor’s blue and white shirt today. He has to roll up the sleeves a couple of times since Victor’s arms are longer, and it’s definitely more than a little baggy, but it comforted him on the flights since now it smells like both of them. “Do you mind?” Yuuri asks. “I should have let you know, I think. I’m sorry.”

Victor wraps him in his arms like the airport, and Yuuri relaxes into his warmth. “No, I don’t mind at all when you borrow my clothing,” Victor answers. “It makes me feel _wanted_.”

He says it like he wouldn’t otherwise, Yuuri thinks, but he wants Victor all the time regardless of how appropriate it is, and they only have a little more time. Yuuri swallows, turning his face sideways into Victor’s neck. “Make love to me,” he says...no he _pleads_. 

Victor pulls back so they can look in each other’s faces. His eyes are wide with disbelief, almost blank. “What?”

Yuuri reaches up and strokes his face. It’s a simple, relatively easy request...surely Victor should agree? Surely things aren’t so close to the end he’d refuse? “I asked you to make love to me.”

It’s not a refusal, Yuuri realizes. Victor’s eyes shine in a different way than Yuuri’s seen before, and his mouth wars between a smile and gaping in shock. He’s at a loss for words, but Yuuri can tell that he’s moved, that he needs it just as badly, that he hurt just as much while he was stuck behind in Moscow. Victor doesn’t speak, but he takes Yuuri by the wrist and leads him to the room sitting farthest back. 

There’s a bedside lamp on when Victor opens the door, and it illuminates the master bedroom. It’s relatively spartan, which makes sense as this is a rental property of some kind. The bed is a king like Victor’s at Yu-Topia, and there’s a closet as well as a wide six-drawer dresser under the windows. 

For the first time in five months, Yuuri wants to hide under the bed. He wants to pace for forty-five minutes and laugh inappropriately because of his nerves. Victor stands in front of him, close enough to touch but not doing so. “We...if you’re tired or---”

Yuuri covers his mouth with his hand. “Shh,” he says. He moves into his personal space, drops his hand, and kisses him. He kisses him the way he wants to going forward---he wants his lips to play Victor a song of how he feels, of how in less than a year Victor’s captured every inch and beat of his heart. 

Victor freezes at first, then he jolts and winds his hands in Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri’s hands grip his waist, and the kissing deepens, no less loving but absolutely more fevered. They only separate to undress each other, Yuuri having the presence of mind to set his glasses on a bedside table before Victor pulls his shirt over his head. He looks at Victor in the lamplight, and he reaches out, his fingers gliding over his collarbones. They drift down his chest, pausing so Yuuri can press his palm to his heart. 

Yuuri takes Victor’s hand with his free one and places it over his chest in the same spot, mirroring the way they stand. He still hates this so much---talking, using words, speaking things out loud. He loathes it because it’s an exposure and a vulnerability he doesn’t feel with other gestures. Let him skate his love, let him render Victor incoherent from the pleasure of his touch, fine. Speaking, though...that’s a deficiency he feels too keenly. 

Yuuri is almost out of chances to speak, though. He meets Victor’s eyes, bites his lip, then plows ahead with, “I need you so much I can’t see straight.”

“Yuuri---” Victor says, but his words get in the way, too. 

Yuuri chooses to spare them both the awkwardness. He kisses him again as he pulls him onto their bed, arranging their bodies so Victor lies on top in between his legs. Yuuri has no idea if they have condoms or lube within reach, but he can’t be bothered. 

Neither can Victor as he leans down to kiss Yuuri’s Adam’s apple. Yuuri arches his back, baring his throat to him as his left hand grips Victor’s hair. His right latches onto his shoulder hard enough to leave crescent-moon marks from his nails, and Victor does the one thing guaranteed to drive Yuuri insane every time: kiss and lick his ear.

Yuuri gasps and jerks, the softness giving way to a molten-hot edge. “Vitya,” he says with his voice breathy and he prays, with the love in his soul.

Victor’s mouth leaves his ear, tracing the cartography of his face to his lips. His hips begin to move, rolling into Yuuri so their cocks---both slick with precome---rub together. Yuuri closes his eyes to feel him. If somehow this is it, if everything ends tomorrow, let this be the last memory he carries, the last thing he knows inside and out.

Ideally they’d take their time, they’d draw it out and spend hours, but the emotions and the need are too great. Yuuri stifles his sounds in Victor’s shoulder with his eyes tightly squeezed shut, and Victor whispers a litany of love, of his name, of everything he can manage. He’s so sincere, all of Yuuri’s uncertainty gets chased away for once. 

They’re in love---they’re in love, and that’s the only relevant fact.

Yuuri’s spine tightens as he comes with a loud gasp, the only sounds he hears are his breathing, Victor’s breathing, and his heart pounding like he’s just finished his free program. Victor stills on top of him, his face in Yuuri’s neck until he pulls back. “Yuuri?” he asks with a distinct note of alarm.

“Hm?” Yuuri replies.

Victor’s thumbs stroke under Yuuri’s eyes, drying them. “You’re weeping.” 

Opening his eyes, Yuuri touches his face. He absolutely is, he’s crying his eyes out. God damn it. “Oh,” he says as he tries to sit up. Victor moves to the side, allowing it. Yuuri covers his face. “Oh God, I’m sorry!”

“Did I hurt you?” Victor asks. His hands rest on Yuuri’s shoulders, his thumbs moving in circles over his skin.

“No,” Yuuri says around a loud sniffle. Why can’t he cry like a pretty girl on a tv show? Why does he have to cry like a Ghibli character? The world is cruel and unjust, not only for this reason but right now _especially_ for this reason. “No, nothing’s wrong. I promise.”

Victor pulls him so his back rests against his chest. His arms wind around him over his collarbone, and Yuuri’s tears come harder now, his voice morphing into a series of broken, wet sobs against the side of Victor’s neck. Victor says something Yuuri doesn’t catch at first, but his voice is soft and warm as Yuuri cries himself out. 

When he’s done, he sags with his hands gripping Victor’s forearms. Deep breaths in and out before he looks into Victor’s eyes. “I’m overwhelmed,” Yuuri manages to explain while rubbing his left eye. “Being apart and then this---it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Victor says. “I know, _lapochka_. I know.”

Yuuri kisses him, a sweet nothing he puts his faith in as a means to tell Victor the truth. Victor responds with tenderness.

He’ll show it more, Yuuri decides. He’ll say it more clearly to his best ability. Yuuri will put anxiousness aside and allow himself the openness he’s realizing he longs to have. He’s going to make every moment count until it’s time to leave, and then he’ll go quietly turning the lights off and locking the door, the same way he walked into Victor’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the fics I've written and only here does Yuuri cry during sex. Good job, self!
> 
> Extra big shoutout to spookyfoot for the extra eyes on this chapter. Thanks boo, you're a peach. <3


	11. A Brief Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first 24 hours Yuuri's back in Hasetsu, and he takes a few giant leaps in regards to Victor.
> 
> Victor takes a leap or two with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so.
> 
> I wasn't going to but then this got so ridiculously long, and it's still going. The chapter count just went up because I'm spliting the Hasetsu breather and Yuuri's birthday into two parts. Otherwise it'd have been like a probably 25k chapter. Which is...ostenatious.
> 
> The Yuuri's birthday part will likely be up around this time next week, so there won't be quite such a delay. (I'm hoping I can avoid this with Barcelona to the end, but I may have to split the *mumble* finale into more than one too. We'll see.)
> 
> (LOL mumble finale like it ain't in the summary.)
> 
> Okay so what Yuuri cooks for Victor is thus: [Chrissy Teigen's Lemony Spaghetti Cacio e pepe](https://www.popsugar.com/food/Lemony-Arugula-Spaghetti-Cacio-e-Pepe-Recipe-40305741). I figure, living in the US with an Italian coach, he's likely to have picked up some Italian staples in his repertoire.
> 
> For those of you wondering when they would stop using protection, please take this token of my esteem.
> 
> For those of you wanting them to actually communicate---this is also for you.
> 
> The poem is "Tonight I Write the Saddest Lines" by Neruda. There will be further Neruda in the next update. He's a fave of our Victor.
> 
> So obviously the shows are Gossip Girl and Sailor Moon Crystal. I may or may not cause the arguing over the best OTP in the latter to resume with this update. Sorry. Also uh...if you've not seen Michelle Trachtenberg lately, the femme fatale corset shoot she did is A+. 
> 
> The hash browns Yuuri likes are from IHOP if you're curious. No they're not home fries. They're HASH BROWNS.

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37274041712/in/dateposted-public/)  


The irony isn’t lost on Yuuri that he slept fine in Moscow while alone and sad, but now in Hasetsu and reunited with Victor he couldn’t sleep if his life depended upon it.

They lie tangled up in each other like usual, and Yuuri watches the movement in Victor’s throat as he breathes. He’s serene in slumber, which given the fading bruising below his eyes Yuuri knows he desperately needs. His hair spreads over the pillows and even in the darkness, Yuuri can see the deep gray of his eyelashes against his cheek. 

There’s so many forms of love, so many people who represent the different kinds to Yuuri but even after all these months, after a public declaration to the press, love is such a small word to describe what he feels. Victor is the the stars and the sun, the wind and the sky—he’s every beat of Yuuri’s heart, every breath he takes. 

Yuuri manages to get up without waking Victor, and he pulls on his boxer briefs and the blue and white shirt. He doesn’t bother with his glasses while he tiptoes past Makkachin, who lifts his head and thumps his tail slowly as he passes. Yuuri wanders through the unfamiliar house, choosing to perch on the couch. He sits for so long the sky lightens from black to gray and overcast. No sunrise for him this time which figures as he rarely is awake to witness one. Can’t win them all, he decides. 

After a few more minutes, he realizes there’s a song in his head; it's the Paramore song that he and Victor danced to when they first got together. It feels like a lifetime ago. He’s a few days short of twenty-four, but he feels ancient. He feels little more than the pain of having to let go of what is most important, both his career and the holder of his heart. They're entwined. He sings the words in his head, humming the melody out loud.

 _Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts. And we've got to find other ways to make it alone, but keep a straight face—_

“Yuuri?” Yuuri looks up. Victor stands behind the couch at the opposite end in a pair of thin lounge pants and no shirt. His eyebrows have knit together, his expression filled with concern. 

“I think I’m thinking too much,” Yuuri answers with a bitter smile.

“You’re worried about the Grand Prix Final,” Victor says with a slight nod. 

Yuuri’s fists clench on his thighs. “Sort of.”

“May I help?” Victor asks after a few moments.

The words are there, caught in his throat like a too large bite of food he didn’t chew enough. He tries again, and this time it takes as he realizes that Phichit is right—he has been for years, and Yuuri only now sees it. 

He’s definitely been slow---borderline stupid---about this. It’s humbling. 

“When I was eleven,” he begins. “I was at the Ice Castle having just finished a lesson with Yuuko and Takeshi. The tv in the office was turned to Junior Worlds, and we huddled around it, though I was distracted at first by a broken lace on my right boot. Yuuko started chattering—she got super excited out of nowhere, and I looked up,” Yuuri continues. “And there was this boy skating, a few years older than me with long hair in a black costume covered in crystals.” 

Victor’s eyes fill with recognition. He doesn’t speak.

“He was so—“ Yuuri can’t find the word. There really isn’t one that does the sight of Victor skating that day justice. “I’d never seen someone so beautiful or elegant before. And I decided in that moment I’d work to one day be worthy of skating on the same ice as him. I'd already comepeted at the Novice level and won a few times, but he was so incredible I couldn't help becoming fascinated and driven. I collected posters, magazines I couldn’t read in Cyrillic, filmed press conferences that I struggled to understand since I’d only just begun to learn English. I even got a toy poodle since I wasn’t allowed a big one and named him Vicchan.”

Victor’s brows knit together. “Your mother calls me…well. This is actually a complicated web.”

Yuuri snorts. “Surprise?” he asks with a timid smile. “The point is, every step I’ve made for the last thirteen years has been because of you, but I always told myself it was due to wanting validation and respect. I wanted to be seen as not necessarily an equal but someone worthy of your attention as a fellow competitor.” The smile turns wry. “Or that’s what I said, anyways.” 

Victor’s eyes widen. 

“I’ve always wanted to be with you,” Yuuri finally admits to himself as much as Victor. “I think…I asked you to have sex that first night because it was a way I could be with you that wouldn’t make me run.”

“I mentioned it the week before,” Victor reminds him. It’s not spiteful or scolding—the opposite, in fact. His words are gentle. “I told you I’d be your lover if you wished.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted,” Yuuri explains. “I didn’t understand things the way I needed to, but I think your offer gave me a push. I think, deep down, part of me figured it out and I was sincere that I want you to just…be _you_ , but they aren't mutually exclusive. I feel like since this—“ He gestures back and forth between them. “You’ve been more _Vitya_ than _Russia's Living Legend Victor Nikiforov_. I know you hate tomatoes and your sense of humor is bad sometimes—”

“Hey,” Victor objects, nudging Yuuri’s thigh with his toes with a comically overblown pout. It’s a token protest, nothing more.

“Your sense of humor is bad sometimes,” Yuuri reiterates with a raised eyebrow. “You’re addicted to sweet potato sochu, your skincare routine costs more than my rent in Detroit for six months, you get turned on by servicing me, you care about respecting the tenets of your faith, you light up when my mom talks to you—“ Yuuri smiles. “You’re a dork, you’re beautiful, you prefer the original flavor of Calpico. You cook blintzes for me and suggest things to help my anxiety. You call Makkachin _ours_. You may not be perfect, but the reality of you…you’re what’s right for me.”

Even in gloomy near-darkness, Victor’s eyes are still somehow a blue that puts the clearest sea to shame. If Yuuri didn’t know better, he’d think there were tears in them. He looks happy, like he wants to celebrate and shout to the heavens, but there is a relief in the set of his shoulders and the relaxing of his jaw that Yuuri isn’t quite sure of the reason for. 

Perhaps it’s possible that he isn’t the only one of them with concerns about their future, but Victor will be gone soon, the weight of reality crushing Yuuri. He pushes it away, but he’s lost the momentum. He doesn’t speak further, biting his bottom lip and looking out the windows as the distant waves crashing against the sand. He doesn’t see, instead feeling Victor move next to him, wrapping him in his arms and holding him close. 

Yuuri relaxes, still wavering with the pain of his upcoming loss. It feels like a bad time to talk further since his feelings are scraped raw. Victor drops a kiss into the crown of his head, taking a deep breath after while his arms tighten. 

“You’re right for me, too,” Victor whispers. 

Yuuri’s eyes sting. He wants to believe him—he thinks Victor might even believe it himself. 

“What time are we due at the Ice Castle?” Yuuri says.

“We’re not, it’s a rest day,” Victor supplies. “I thought between the stress and the time spent traveling, you’d need a reprieve. Your birthday is a rest day as well, but other than that…I’m not going easy on you.”

“Good,” Yuuri answers. They can’t afford Victor to be a bleeding heart. Maybe they should change some of the jumps in “Eros”—maybe making the last one a 4F instead since a Plus 3 GOE isn’t anything to sneeze at, assuming of course that Yuuri lands it. He wants to try though. 

He also considers changing up the exhibition program in case he medals. He performed “Stay Close to Me” in Beijing, but this is essentially is him writing Victor a _goodbye and I’ll always love you_ letter. Though there isn’t much time to make a whole new program. 

In a perfect world he’d skate the exhibition with Victor, the two of them telling everyone what they are to one another and leaving no room for rumor or doubt. They could do some kind of ice dance together, something romantic— “Vitya,” Yuuri says. “How out of practice are you?”

Victor shrugs. “I can’t say, to be honest. Probably more than I think. Why?”

“Could you get back into shape enough for an ice dance?” Yuuri asks. “I’d like to do the gala with you, if you’d be willing.”

Victor freezes.

Yuuri’s heart sinks. “Right, you—okay, well…don’t worry about it. We don’t have to—“

“No,” Victor cuts him off. “No, it’s just funny you mention this. The song has two versions, a duet and a solo. I chose the solo version because of how I fe—the way I wanted the program to make the audience feel, but I still licensed the duet in case I changed my mind. So, we’ll use that version instead of the solo, and I’ll get a redone version of my costume to coordinate better with you—“

“The pink one’s fine,” Yuuri says.

“No, it isn’t. It’s got gold accents and a white undershirt,” Victor points out. “Yours is blue with a black undershirt and silver accents. It won’t look right. I think a purple like amethysts would be a better choice with your sapphire blue.”

“Can they make it in time?” Yuuri wonders.

“They should be able to, they don’t have to alter the original pattern,” Victor says. “Actually, since your pants are identical to mine from the first one, all they have to do is make a new top. It should be feasible, but I’ll offer extra pay for expediting it just in case.”

Yuuri’s heart aches in both good and bad ways. “Okay.”

Victor breathes. “Yuuri I—I don’t think you understand what you’ve given me.”

He’d hand him the world on a silver platter if he had the means.

“It’s nothing,” Yuuri says. 

There’s a subtle shift in Victor’s mood, but Yuuri doesn’t turn to look at him. He swallows and gets up, avoiding his gaze. “I know you said it’s a rest day, but I need to go for a run.”

“ _Lapochka_ —“ Victor starts. 

“I won’t be long,” Yuuri interrupts. He leaves, grabbing his suitcase and wheeling it to their bedroom. He changes without showering into baggy sweatpants and a gray and black Mizuno windbreaker. He doesn’t bother with his glasses and grabs his phone, plugging a pair of earbuds in and heading out the sliding glass door to run parallel to the shore. 

He takes a long route back through town with his thoughts wrapped up in Victor and the end. Is it possible he can ask Victor to stay even if he returns to competition? Phichit told him he’s allowed to be selfish, to want things and to make requests of Victor, but this is a lot to ask. Is it really fair to say to a person _please give me forever_?

Bright colors in bins catch Yuuri’s eye, and he slows to a stop. Even though it’s winter the Hasetsu florist is in full swing, and there are pre-fab bouquets in tubs arranged by type and color. There’s dozens of fragrant roses in every concieveable shade as well as some deep red camellias. There are purple and white orchids, too. His mother’s favorites, the Casablanca lilies, are up front and center, but these—

Yuuri picks up an arrangement wrapped in almost-bursting cellophane of hot pink blooms that smell like heaven. They’re round, fat flowers that don’t look open, a vibrant pink Yuuri can’t believe exists in nature. They look like a lipstick a girl from his pole class always wore, they’re—

They’re “Stay Close to Me” pink, he realizes. They’re the pink that brought Victor into his orbit. 

The shop owner steps out with another tub, this time mixed bouquets of wildflowers. “Ah, good morning, Katsuki-kun,” she says with a bright smile.

“Good morning,” he answers with a slight bow. “How much are these?”

Her expression turns playful. “Would the peonies be a gift for that handsome fellow I see you walking beside you?”

Yuuri feels his cheeks turn the same shade as the camellias. “Yes,” he admits, mostly because they both know pretending otherwise is pointless. Peonies, he remembers now. That’s what they’re called. 

“You can have them,” she says. When he begins to protest, she holds up a hand. “No, Katsuki-kun. We’re all rooting for you in the Grand Prix Final. If giving him a token of your affection helps, consider it on the house.”

He bows a second time. “I barely have the words, but thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Do your best.” She finishes her task, heading back into her shop. Yuuri returns to the cottage the way he came, arms full of the flowers while music plays, the sea crashing with tempestuousness into the sand. He considers wading for half a second before he recalls it’s the end of November. He’ll end up with pneumonia. 

He slides the glass door open as Victor left it unlocked. He turns off iTunes and removes the earbuds. He’s careful when he takes off his trainers to bang the sand outside before putting them on the mat indoors. He can hear the sounds of movement in the kitchen punctuated by soft whines from Makkachin. The air smells like miso paste and grilled fish, like a traditional Japanese breakfast he has no idea how or when Victor learned to make. 

“Vitya,” he begins as he rounds the corner to see him in a Vancouver Olympics long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He has on thick socks, and Makkachin sits perfectly still by his left knee with bright eyes aimed towards the counter and his pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. 

Victor glances up at him before staring. “What are those?” he asks, though his tone is a bit odd.

Yuuri is suddenly a shy child who followed Mari to her ballet lessons. He holds the offering to their intended recipient. “I saw these and couldn’t stop thinking of you,” he tries to say with confidence but falls short, his voice softening into timidity. 

Victor seems to melt. “You—for me?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. “They’re peonies. I um…the color—“ Everything is wrong. “She had roses. You always have roses. I should’ve given you roses. I’ll go back and get the roses.”

He turns, but Victor grabs his arm. “No! No, that’s not it! I simply never imagined you’d buy me flowers.” He sounds dazed. “Any flowers. I never—you don’t seem the type to—“

Yuuri looks at him. “So you…don’t want me to do things like this?”

“No,” Victor says. “I just never thought you’d _want_ to do things like this.”

Yuuri tilts his head to the right with a raised eyebrow. “You've wanted me to buy you flowers?” he wonders.

Victor’s cheeks now match his gift. “Well, I won’t pretend the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”

They look at each other in a weird way, like it’s early in their relationship, and they’re at the awkward courting stage. “Okay. Well.” Yuuri coughs. “Maybe I’ll make it a habit.”

Victor is visibly flustered, his hands flailing back and forth. “I—yes. I would appreciate that.”

He’s so cute, Yuuri notes. He’s adorable, actually, and he’s happy, like it’s his birthday. Yuuri marvels that somehow he reduces a man like Victor to a lovestruck boy. He can’t help but smile. “Okay. I’ll keep doing it,” Yuuri assures him as he hands him the bouquet. 

Victor leans down and inhales. “They’re lovely,” he tells Yuuri when he’s done. “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing,” Yuuri says as Victor kisses his cheek. 

Victor opens his mouth, then thinks better of it. “I’ll find a vase, I believe there’s one under the sink.”

“I’m going to shower,” Yuuri replies. He heads to the indoor shower, Makkachin looking between them before choosing Yuuri. He washes expediently while their dog lies outside the bathroom door keeping watch, and when he emerges with steam-flushed cheeks and damp hair, he pads to the kitchen where Victor has set out their food. Miso soup, the grilled fish, and _tamago_ await him, plus his favorite matcha blend to drink. 

They dig in together, and Yuuri is pleasantly surprised. It’s not quite as good as his mother’s, but with practice it easily could be. “I should make you breakfast tomorrow, I think,” he says between mouthfuls.

Victor smiles after a sip of soup. “If you like.”

“Americans eat things like fried, shredded potatoes,” Yuuri says. “I only like them at this one place next to the rink in Detroit. I asked what the difference was and got told it’s due to mass quantities of butter in their recipe.”

“I’ll have to say no to that,” Victor says. “If I’m skating with you, I have to eat a stricter diet.”

“I figured,” Yuuri says. “My real favorite is actually _omurice_. I made it for Phichit a lot when we had the time. I’d make him pancakes too, even though—“ He winces at a particular memory. 

“Even though?” Victor prods. He has coffee for himself, a dark roast Yuuri can smell from across their table with the barest bit of sugar to lessen its bite.

“The first week we lived together, he went out Friday night,” Yuuri says. “And I went to bed, not realizing he hadn’t come home. I got up the next morning and decided I wanted pancakes, so I was mixing the dry ingredients when the door opened, and here he comes like he’s sneaking around trying to steal the Mona Lisa.”

Victor snorts. “It didn’t actually work, did it?”

“We had an open floorplan, so no,” Yuuri says. “We kind of stared at each other and then I asked if he wanted pancakes. He said yes. We ate, it was super awkward, and then I requested if he stayed out all night to text me so I could put on the deadbolt.”

“I figured there had to be a reason why Chris became so smitten so fast,” Victor says with a laugh.

“Yeah, I have to remind Phichit not to give me details a lot,” Yuuri admits. “Starting with that breakfast.”

Victor laughs louder. “Oh no!”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “He likes sharing. Too much.”

Shaking his head, Victor clears the table. “He looks like an angel---I’d never guess.”

“He’s a menace,” Yuuri answers as he grabs a dishtowel. Yuuri dries, Victor washes, and they’re done in no time. It’s lovely, Yuuri decides. Harmonious, like they’re completely in sync. “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, but he’s a danger to society. He needs to be stopped.”

Victor chuckles, turns his face, and Yuuri leans in for a soft kiss. “We are at loose ends, _lapochka_ ," Victor proclaims. “How would you like to spend our day?”

Yuuri considers several options---a few of which are naughty---but one sticks out. “Let’s watch television.”

Victor grins. “Your wish is my command.”

_——_

Yuuri wonders if this was a horrible mistake.

“Why are they all so mean to each other?” he asks halfway through an hour of Victor’s all-time favorite show. “No one on this show can even spell the word ‘kindness,’ let alone put it into practice. They’re all awful, except Serena and her brother I guess.”

“That’s why it’s so compelling!” Victor drinks from a bottle of milk tea they both love. Before they began the marathon, they made a _combini_ run after returning the Yu-Topia van. They spent an hour with Yuuri’s parents when they weren’t too busy with their customers, and Mari also hung out for a bit, reminding Yuuri yet again of their deal. 

Yuuri made a show of emailing the JSF then and there to get her off his case, though he also requested a set of tickets for Minako. It worked—Mari grinned and thanked him, shouting something about impatience at seeing Yurio again, and when he told Minako she Face Timed him in gratitude.

There’s various _onigiri_ (Victor likes the umeboshi ones best, Yuuri preferring the salmon and mayo combo), bags of different flavors of crisps, and Victor just realized that Kit Kats exist in seasonal and regional flavors besides the normal milk chocolate in Japan. They’re lazy slugs Yuuri can’t help but think, crowded on the couch together in a pile with Makkachin warming their feet and shins. Yuuri almost forgets about the accident, but he remembers just in time before giving Makkachin some of their snacks.

“I guess,” Yuuri concedes. It is fairly entertaining in a way that makes him glad he’s not them. There’s a big reveal in the last moment of the episode that someone named “G” has been trying to sabotage Serena with _an actual shipment of cocaine_ among other things, but before he can ask why this matters the next episode starts. Serena and Chuck have a conversation at their school and then… _she_ appears like a whirlwind of high-end black eyeliner and leather pants that had to cost two thousand American dollars. 

Yuuri sits straighter. “Who is that?”

“Georgina Sparks,” Victor answers as he takes a bite of an _onigiri_. “One of the finest villains of the 21st century. She’s rather Machiavellian—it’s quite impressive.”

Yuuri adjusts his glasses and stares. “Right that—“ Her eyes are big and blue, but a different color than Victor’s. They’re paler, more of a gray-blue than his green-blue. She’s fairly tall he thinks, and the way she moves---it’s like she’s been trained for economy and grace. Her motions have a purposefulness like she’s feline. Her voice sounds like it’s soaked in vodka. Yuuri is terrified, but he’s also fascinated.

Victor sips his tea. “Something on your mind?”

Yuuri misses the lilt in the question. “Hm? Oh no, I just…she’s an interesting character.”

“Mhm,” Victor replies. 

Serena and Georgie have dinner together. Georgie dumps an entire vial of GHB into Serena’s Diet Coke while she calls Dan the night before their college entrance exams. Yuuri can’t take his eyes off her while fearing for his safety, even though ostensibly she's in Manhattan and also she's not real. Victor nudges Yuuri with an elbow, causing Yuuri to look away from her for the first time since she appeared. The expression on Victor’s face is preposterously smug. “What?”

“You know, the actress? Her name is Michelle Trachtenberg,” Victor begins. “She’s the daughter of a Russian-Jewish immigrant who has studied ballet in addition to being an acting since childhood. She’s also the same height as you. Her eyes are quite pretty as well especially with her make up for this role, wouldn’t you say?”

Yuuri glares at him. “What are you getting at?”

Victor smirks. “My Yuuri, my darling _lapochka_ …you have a _type_.”

“What?” Yuuri fills one syllable with a lifetime of outrage. “I do not!”

“You do,” Victor says, his smirk getting larger. “You like tall, Slavic-descended, blue-eyed men and women heavily trained in fields that require grace and rhythm such as dance or figure skating.”

“I never said she’s hot!” Yuuri insists. “I said her character is interesting!”

“You’re drooling,” Victor counters. “Even when the other characters speak, your fixate on her. It’s like she’s the first woman you’ve ever seen in your whole life.”

“She’s not, I’m not, and I don’t drool!” Yuuri says while his voice edges into a higher register.

“Of course not,” Victor teases. “You’re simply wondering where wardrobe purchased her blouses.”

Yuuri glowers at him while Victor, who practically polishes a halo four inches above his hair and finishes his _onigiri_. “I do not have a type. I’m not attracted to her. And I hate you.”

Victor loses it, laughing an ugly, obnoxious laugh that Yuuri’s heard only a few times since the snow fell on the blooming sakura. Hating him may not be enough. Drowning him, getting a new identity, and starting over with formerly-Makkachin-now-called-Henry…that may be better. “Shut up,” Yuuri says. 

“Should I see if my management knows hers?” Victor continues. “They have some clients in Los Angeles and New York. I could arrange a meeting, maybe a quiet cocktail bar—”

“Oh my God!” Yuuri covers his face by pulling the Russian team jacket up over it. He looks like he has no head, which seems not so bad all of a sudden.

“I’d let you have a—what’s the phrase Chris taught me—Hall Pass for the night,” Victor continues.

“Goodbye,” Yuuri says as he tries to get up blind, immediately tripping on the corner of the _kotatsu_ and landing in an unceremonious heap. Makkachin woofs in his face and then lies on Yuuri’s back, thus cementing the complete and total theft of his dignity. Fine, he’ll kill Victor, leave Makkachin on the Yu-Topia doorstep, and reinvent himself in the Peace Corps with the new identity of Shimada Mamoru. 

No one will ever suspect, because he’s pretty sure at Ayers Rock or Easter Island or wherever, most people don’t care about figure skating.

Eventually Victor stops laughing. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

He can eat shit, because no one’s ever been less sorry in their life.

He sits in front of Yuuri’s still-covered face. “Yuuuuuurrriiiiiii—“ Victor sings. “When I was fourteen, I fully understood how the idea of kissing girls doesn’t appeal to me. Boys though, I realized how much boys move me because of a movie I saw one night in a hotel room during the Junior Grand Prix Final. Yakov left me to my own devices and I did end up eating too many chocolate bars from the mini-fridge, but I went through the channels and came across this American teen movie from before I was born.”

Yuuri won’t come out like a stubborn tortoise. Makkachin makes himself more comfortable. “…Go on.”

“It’s this movie about a girl whose family is poor but she attends an expensive private school, and a rich boy named Blane falls for her,” Victor says. “Blane was blond and sweet looking—he was romantic, though towards the end of the film he acts like a complete…well, _baka_ , as you’d say. He’s still beautiful, and the girl ends up working things out with him. She also makes an amazing pink gown which was the color inspiration for my costume, but I digress.”

Yuuri allows only his forehead and eyes, glasses askew, to be seen. To call him wary is an understatement.

“You have no reason to be embarrassed because you, twice in your existence, found a woman attractive,” Victor says with a rueful smile. “And you don’t have to feel strange about finding one of them such while you’re involved with me as long as you don’t act on it.”

Yuuri grumbles. “Ugh. Fine. Just stop making it into such a _thing_.”

“Yes, _lapochka_ ,” Victor says as he shoos Makkachin away to help him back onto the couch. Yuuri grudge-eats more prawn chips. “Would you like to pick something else to watch, or do you want to restart the episode?”

“No, let me show you something that meant—means a lot to me,” he says. He grabs the remote and logs into another streaming service. There it is: Sailor Moon Crystal, seasons 1-2. Yuuri turns on the first episode as orchestral sounds ascend to a peak while visions of space become a princess running into the arms of her prince.

Then an alarm goes off, a girl screams, gets ready for school, and runs like the wind.

Yuuri made sure to put on the English subtitles so Victor can follow along, though in hindsight it might have been good Japanese practice if he hadn’t. Tsukino Usagi helps a cat, gets detention, and meets a boy in a tuxedo. 

Victor is completely riveted. 

When Luna speaks and Usagi becomes the Guardian of Love and Justice, Victor looks a lot like a child watching a beloved movie. Tuxedo Mask lends Sailor Moon his support, and she saves the day. 

Something passes on Victor’s face. “Yuuri?”

“Hm?” Yuuri asks. 

“Are they the girl and the boy from Usagi’s dream?” Victor continues. “The hair matches.”

“Spoilers,” Yuuri scolds. “Keep watching…three of these episodes fit in one of Gossip Girl.”

“But—“ Victor complains.

Yuuri shushes him. “Keep watching.”

Victor has heart eyes watching their interactions. “They’re beautiful. They should marry and fight evil forever.”

Yuuri has two thoughts at this comment. This first is a detailed reminder of the plot twist in the second arc involving Crystal Tokyo and its royal family. 

The second is _suck it, Mari, Vitya picked the correct ship._

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Yuuri says. “They’re my first um…” Yuuri tries to think of what it’s called in English. Then he remembers from Victor’s fans saying it on their selfies. “I never had a ship before Usagi and Mamoru. They’re my OTP, I guess.”

“If the world is just, they’re _everyone’s_ OTP,” Victor declares.

“Everyone should share our flawless taste, correct,” Yuuri says with a nod. “I love this series so much. It’s a lot better than the other show they made. For some reason, Mamoru is a jerk a lot. I don’t know—the one we’re watching has problems with poor animation, but I’ve always loved the manga’s story better so I choose to ignore them.”

“Other show?” Victor asks.

“Yeah, I was…really, really young,” Yuuri says. “It’s 200 episodes long. This one is twenty-six so far. I figured this is a better starting place. Mari was really into it before she got more into her bands. She grew out of it, but I found her tapes and manga and I asked if I could borrow them. She said yes, and I was hooked. It’s got romance, fighting, horror, monsters, fairy tale elements, magic—it’s actually pretty fun, and I got really invested in Usagi and Mamoru’s story. I was…well I won’t tell you how it ends outright, but it makes me really happy.”

Yuuri smiles as he recalls that part of his youth. “When I got my own computer for school at thirteen, I would look on the internet for websites related to you mostly, but also dogs, other skaters, dance performances, video games, and Sailor Moon. One website actually had all the doujinshi from the original run scanned for reading.”

“What are doujinshi?” Victor asks.

“Oh, they’re fan comics,” Yuuri explains. “There’s an entire convention built around comics, including those, in Tokyo called Comiket. People cosplay there and sell art. I’ve never been, but some kids I went to school with have. They said it was fun.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!” Victor says. “Are the doujinshi good?”

“They vary,” Yuuri says. “It’s mostly about personal taste. And a lot of them I had to pretend I was eighteen to look at.” Victor gives him a confused look. “Um…well they’re…they’re porn.”

Yuuri thinks for the second time that day he’s in for a world of hurt. He thinks he can use a burner phone with a sizable data allotment to google how to get a fake passport before beginning his life anew as a humble fisherman in Bora Bora.

Instead, Victor only has a curious look on his face. “Really? People are into that… _you_ are into that?”

“I’m not _not_ into it,” Yuuri evades. The look in Victor’s eyes makes it crystal clear it didn’t work. “Okay fine. I’m into it. Those and some other things, they’re how I lear…well, whatever. The point is they’re one of my favorite couples, and I liked seeing other people’s takes on them." 

He gets wistful, and Victor’s eyes fill with worry. “Yuuri?” 

Yuuri wears a bittersweet smile. “I never told anyone this, not even Yuu-chan or Phichit, but you know in the US how Valentine’s Day is a really big deal?” 

“I think I’ve heard about it once or twice,” Victor says. 

“Well, it’s huge,” Yuuri says. “Here, you give the person you want to be with homemade chocolates. Then about a month later on White Day if they want you too, they return the gesture. Christmas here is a couple’s thing too—we only exchange gifts with our partners.” 

Victor nods. 

“Anyways, in the US, everyone makes a huge deal out of Valentine’s Day—expensive dinner dates, romantic getaways, a lot of marriage proposals, that kind of thing. On campus and at the rink, it was…everywhere. No one could talk about anything else in the lead up, and everyone had someone.” 

The bitter definitely takes over Yuuri’s smile. It's painful, like his muscles have frozen in place. 

“Except me.” He winds his hands into the front of the jacket. “Phichit always managed to have a date. He’d ask if I minded, and I lied with a big smile so he wouldn’t change his plans.” 

“You weren’t okay,” Victor says. He sounds incredibly sad. 

Yuuri can’t look at him because the pity will make him sick. 

“No, because it seemed like that day I couldn’t help but feel lonely,” Yuuri says. “I normally wasn’t. Any other night of the year, Phichit could have a date and it wouldn’t occur to me to be sad. We had other rink mates, like how sometimes Greg whose family lived in Detroit would have me over for dinner. I had somewhere to go for American Thanksgiving, when All-Japan wasn’t on Christmas itself and I managed to be back in the US I’d be invited to family parties, but on Valentine’s Day—no one realizes single people have nowhere to be.” 

He’d skate alone thanks to the spare keys Celestino gave him for those nights. He’d skate until exhaustion set in and his feet gave out, exhausting himself so he could no longer fixate on his loneliness. 

“I guess I just kept asking why I didn’t have someone,” Yuuri. “I thought maybe something was wrong with me.” 

“No, not at all,” Victor says. “There’s never been—“ 

“It’s because,” Yuuri says, cutting him off. “I just needed to wait like Usagi did for Mamoru, because my someone came to me this spring. I found him after all and—“ He hopes Victor can’t hear it, the way he tries to fight back the sudden onslaught of emotion. “He’ll always be my someone, no matter how we end up.” 

Victor doesn’t speak or even move. 

Yuuri bites his lip. “Um, we should figure out real food. Maybe…do you want to go out? It’s cool enough _shabu shabu_ is not a bad idea, or we can go to our izakaya, or maybe we can—“ 

“I love you,” Victor says. 

Yuuri’s eyes close, but he has to wipe his sleeve across his face since his tears begin to spill. He tries to do it subtly enough Victor won’t be able to tell. 

“You’ll always be my someone too,” Victor finishes, his voice somewhere between stunned and overjoyed. “As long as I live and breathe, you’re the one.” 

Something’s broken because instead of bolting or changing topics, instead of immediately telling himself Victor’s words are pretty and nothing more, Yuuri instead says, “Do you mean it?” 

“Do you think I don’t?” Victor asks. There’s a sharp note of dismay in his words, and Yuuri looks at him. He’s not insulted, but he is hurt, and Yuuri swallows a few times from guilt. 

“It’s…” Yuuri gets stopped by Victor holding up a hand. 

“What will make you believe me?” Victor asks instead. He sounds eager to prove himself. 

_I’ve kept you from the thing that matters the most to you,_ Yuuri thinks. _How can you stay by my side when you long to return to skating? I’m holding you back._ “I’ll come around,” he chooses instead. 

Victor kisses him, and for once Yuuri thinks he means his promise. “I’d rather stay in,” Victor answers. “I’d rather stay in aside from a quick run to bring food back, though I think after practice tomorrow we’ll get proper groceries. I’d rather we—“ 

He’s vulnerable, Yuuri notes because of the way he rambles. Maybe they’re both still on edge from being apart. “Actually, I’ll run to the grocers. I’ll make dinner since you made breakfast and—“ Yuuri squints as he tries to recall what they carry. “I think I can get what I need.” 

“Shall I join you?” Victor asks. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “You can pick out what we’ll drink. I don’t think sake or sochu will go well with the dish I’m making.” 

Victor looks curious, but he turns off the television and lets Makkachin out for a few minutes to do his business. He grabs a warm jacket, Yuuri doing the same, and they put on their shoes to head to the market. 

It’s not the shortest walk, but it’s manageable, Yuuri entwining their hands the whole way. Victor pauses by a bakery, eyeing the _wagashi_ in the windows. They’re pretty, differing pastel colors shaped like apples, cherries, and plums. Yuuri checks the hours on the window—provided the market doesn’t take long, they can grab some oh the return trip. “Come on, Vitya,” he pleads. 

“Okay,” Victor says. 

The market Yuuri has chosen has a respectable (at least for Kyushu) international section, though he suffers from sticker shock. It’s all so much less expensive in Detroit, Yuuri laments as he puts a box of spaghetti in a wicker basket. They have the Parmigiano-Reggiano, surprisingly—Celestino gave him suggestions for substitutions a few times, but it’s nice to have the correct ingredient. He puts it in with the other supplies. 

There’s no bacon, but he thinks he can improvise with pork belly. The lemons are in surprisingly good shape for the season. “Is there black pepper at the house?” Yuuri asks. 

“I didn’t think to look,” Victor answers with a sheepish grin. 

“Hm,” Yuuri says as he grabs the rest of what he needs. He gets sick at the cost for one home cooked meal—it strikes him as extravagant. 

If Victor likes it, if he smiles that bright, heart-shaped one—that’s worth more than money. 

They have time for the bake shop, and Victor acts like a puppy as he tries to decide between the _wagashi_. He settles on a larger variety set, waving Yuuri away when he tries to pay. “You buy dinner, I buy dessert,” Victor proclaims. “Sweets for my sweet.” 

Yuuri blushes and smiles. “Okay.” 

Victor grins, taking his free hand in the one without the bakery bag, and they walk home. 

It’s not even been a full day, but it’s so easy. Victor makes it so easy to fall into a routine like they’ve built a real home and life together. Victor said forever’s possible, and Yuuri watches him while he talks about a book he likes that collects poetry by a man Yuuri’s heard of called Neruda. His eyes glow, his voice excited, and Yuuri falls ever-so-slightly more in love. 

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines,” Victor recites. “I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.” He looks at Yuuri while he says the second part. 

“Sometimes she loved me, too,” Yuuri echoes. “That’s kind of heartbreaking, isn’t it? Giving everything to someone who doesn’t want you the same way.” 

Victor turns his gaze forward. “I would say so,” he responds after a minute. 

“So, this woman left him?” Yuuri continues, thinking about the previous stanzas. “He was abandoned, and he writes about her because he longs for her?” 

“It’s all he has,” Victor says. “He can’t tell her anymore. He can’t show her. Most of the time his love is gone, but he writes his pain since he has to express it. He loved her, in some ways will always love her but—“ He thinks for a moment. “Well, he loved her but it wasn’t enough, and she didn’t quite feel the same so she let him go. He didn’t want her to let go—but she did.” 

Yuuri took literature at college, and he had exposure to it in his compulsory Japanese education as well. He understands how to talk about it, how to defend his opinions and explain what a metaphor refers to, but he’s never been competent at creative writing. It’s never bothered him before, but now he has a pang of regret. “Do you write?” he asks instead. 

Victor hums. “I often imagined had I not been so gifted at skating, I would have gone to school to study literature,” he says. “Perhaps becoming a professor. Medicine and law never appealed to me regardless of my chosen path…I never saw myself changing gears upon my retirement in either of those directions. I enjoyed writing for my assignments during my schooling…so perhaps in another life.” 

“It’s not too late,” Yuuri says. It seems like what he should say, like how a partner is supposed to be supportive. He always wants to lift Victor, even though Victor knows he can do anything. 

Victor’s eyes light up. “That’s true, I suppose. For now, I will simply continue to read what catches my interest when I can spare the time.” 

“You use a reader app on your iPad,” Yuuri says. 

“Mmm, it’s a lifesaver for travel,” Victor thinks out loud. “I used to have to be sparing in what I could take for lunch breaks during practice or time in between events. Now I can have pretty much anything at my disposal. It’s very convenient, though I do prefer actual books. I like the sensory experience of paper.” 

They’re home, Victor unlocking the door, and Yuuri carrying the food inside after they take off their shoes and put on the house slippers. Makkachin prances up with a speedily-wagging tail and they give him a few minutes of love. 

“Let me walk him,” Victor says. He kisses Yuuri’s temple before going. 

“Okay,” Yuuri says as he smiles at his back. 

He takes everything to the kitchen, rolls up his red and white sleeves, washes his hands, and gets to work. It takes about the duration of Makkachin’s outside exercise and playtime, but when he’s done, he sets the table. He chilled the wine when he began, and he hopes it’s cold enough to drink. 

Victor sits and looks at his plate---creamy cheese-based pasta with diced, crisp pork belly and visible pepper flakes. “Italian food,” he says. 

Yuuri’s smile is sheepish. “I can make all of the Yu-Topia menu, plus other things like _okonomiyaki_ if I have the right flour. In Detroit, Celestino made this for us as a bonding dinner Phichit’s first night as my roommate. It’s possibly the best thing I ate the whole time I lived there, and I got a little fixated on it.” He cuts his pasta and takes a bite. “Celestino gave me the recipe so I'd stop asking him to make it for me. It’s called _cacio e pepe_.” 

Victor takes his first bite, lighting up. “ _Vksuno_!” He takes bigger, less polite bites from then on. “You’re amazing…is there anything you can’t do?” 

Yuuri shrugs. “Organic chemistry. A friend was a science major and I looked at their homework a few times. Letters and double lines forming rings. The world immediately ceased to make sense.” 

“That’s definitely not easy,” Victor agrees. 

“Besides, you’re the genius,” Yuuri teases as he takes a sip of the wine. “This is really good.” 

“I had a bottle given to me complimentary at a resort,” Victor says. “I’ve been a fan since. Also, there are many things I cannot do.” 

“Name three,” Yuuri says. “And a quad Axel doesn’t count.” 

Victor puts his fork down. “I can’t surf, I can’t bake, and I can’t repair my own plumbing. Surfing, I’ve done lessons on trips with my parents—it just won’t gel. Baking is a disaster every attempt. Cooking makes sense. Baking involves whims of higher beings I apparently have failed to gain the favor of. I tried to do my own plumbing repairs exactly once, and then my downstairs neighbors sent me a bill for the flood damage.” 

Yuuri gives him a knowing look. “I grew up here, so I can actually surf a little though Hasetsu doesn’t get really good waves, and I learned to fix things in Detroit because our management dragged their heels with repairs. Baking, we’re both out of luck. Phichit can make magic with the right ingredients and an oven though. His tiramisu is really good, and he figured out how to make American-style pies. Like…fruit ones---apple and their weird, sweet pumpkins.” 

“Wow,” Victor says. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” 

“He’s pretty complicated,” Yuuri agrees. He should call him to talk. Maybe the next day after practice, he thinks as he sees their plates are empty. “Here.” He gathers the dishes, and Victor follows. They reverse roles from breakfast—Yuuri washes, Victor dries. Makkachin still begs, but that’s barely worth mentioning. 

When they’re done, Victor wraps Yuuri into his arms, Yuuri’s sliding around his waist. Victor’s eyes and smile make Yuuri feel safe and loved, so much so he forgets everything else. “Shall we turn in?” Victor asks. 

“It’s early still,” Yuuri points out. 

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping,” Victor says, his voice like luscious, brushed silk. 

“Ah,” Yuuri says with a nod. He should have known. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Such enthusiasm,” Victor jokes. “I love how brazenly you show your desire, _lapochka_.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Yuuri says as he shoves his chest with one hand. “You know from _firsthand experience almost every night since June_ that I’m hot for you.” 

Victor laughs and leads him to bed. 

Yuuri isn’t finished. “Seriously, _I_ hit on _you_ , remember?” Yuuri says as Victor puts his glasses on the table by his half of the bed. He unzips the jacket next. “I asked you to take my virginity. I took one sample, and I became an addict! Remember how surly I was the next day because you were passive-aggressively sexy—“ 

“That’s not a thing,” Victor says as he drops the jacket to the floor, then pulls Yuuri’s plain gray t-shirt over his head. 

“It is _absolutely_ a thing with you,” Yuuri argues. “And half the time I can’t stop thinking about you _that_ way, like in ways that the Nishigoris will ban us from the Ice Castle. I can’t even entertain the real life version of the hot spring fantasy, there’s health codes and Mari will _literally kill me_ —“ 

Victor kneels and undoes the fly on Yuuri’s jeans like he’s a clinician. They drop to the ground since Yuuri has dropped a pound or two thanks to the extra practice. Yuuri helps him with the sock removal. Socks during sex are a universal no. It’s against the Geneva Convention. 

Yuuri continues his lecture, a thoroughly researched pieced titled _Why Victor Nikiforov is Unfair and the Worst_ , as he helps Victor strip down to his briefs. “You barely have to touch me, and I’m completely amped up. It’s like you have some kind of weird sex-witchery thing over me, and it’s so annoying when I try to accomplish anything else—“ 

“I thought I’d mentioned that I’m an incubus,” Victor remarks, dry as the Mojave while he runs his hands sinuously over Yuuri’s ribs in the way he knows ruins his ability to think. It works, Yuuri’s train of thought is now the victim of an epic derailment. “I’m an evil, evil man, seducing the innocent Katsuki Yuuri and using him for my own gains. Why you have no agency in our dalliances at all! A mere pawn of my unstoppable sensuality, to be sure.” 

Then Victor’s hands are in his hair, and Yuuri’s heart is in his teeth as he latches onto a spot on his throat in a way that will require a lack of shame or a lot of concealer in the morning. He can’t be bothered because his body burns like the surface of the sun and his cock went from zero to _please someone touch me_ in record time. 

Victor pushes him the half a foot back and they tangle on the bed while he kisses him, swallowing Yuuri’s groan. The only thing saving Yuuri’s dignity is how blatant Victor’s own want is, and while they minimize the foreplay in a way they don’t usually, Yuuri’s not fussed. Getting to the point is fun once in a while. He’s got a small sample set, but he doesn’t think they’ve ever had bad sex. 

This time seems like it’s no exception. 

Victor breaks the kissing, dropping a quick peck to Yuuri’s nose, and then moves to his nightstand. The lubricant is easily found, but then he frowns into the condom box. “Hm.” 

“What?” Yuuri says. His breathing’s labored and his arms are empty. It’s better when Victor covers him with his weight, when he’s pressed into a bed or a wall or anywhere by him. 

“I should have checked before the combini run,” Victor grumbles. “We’re out, so we’ll have to find another way.” 

Yuuri gets punched in the jaw by a scarily logical thought he should have probably had months ago. “Vitya…you’ve not slept with anyone since moving here besides me, right?" 

“I haven’t had a partner since before Sochi—more or less, I guess,” Victor says. 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow but decides to keep to his original topic. “And I never did anything but make out before you,” Yuuri continues. 

“You explained that, yes,” Victor responds. 

“Why do we use them?” Yuuri asks. 

Victor kneels next to Yuuri’s body. Yuuri turns his head—Victor looks completely dumbfounded. “Huh.” 

“The beginning, you know that—“ Yuuri trails off. “We’re monogamous and disease-free. Neither of us can get pregnant, even though when you showed me “Eros” the first time I thought maybe…” 

“…The what now?” Victor interjects. He gives Yuuri a concerned stare. 

“Never mind,” Yuuri says. “My point is we don’t need them. So…why not stop?” 

Victor narrows his eyes, but then they clear. “If a repeat of our quickie in Beijing happens, that will require them. The costume.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Yuuri concedes. “But moments like now—“ 

Victor drapes himself back on him, setting the lube next to Yuuri’s head. He holds Yuuri’s face in both of his hands, bending and kissing. It pushes Yuuri back from rational thought to his baser needs, re-kindling the fire that always simmers between them, waiting for the first real spark. 

Yuuri thinks about tomorrow, thinks about next year and the one after and fifty down the line, somehow Victor still by his side, loving him, holding him close, the two of them happy beyond words. When Victor pulls off his boxers to prep him, Yuuri rolls onto his stomach, rising to his hands and knees as his chin drops to his chest. 

Victor pauses but then keeps going, coating his fingers and breeching Yuuri with one, slow and strong. It’s not a position they use often—not because it feels bad when either of them bottoms, but because they both like seeing each other’s face. There’s no doubts at this point about how good it is, but Yuuri’s moved by watching Victor’s eyelids flutter when he’s closer. 

Considering he made a movie for Victor, he’s definitely aware of how much Victor prefers being able to see him. 

Yuuri does it tonight because he’s on the verge of crying again. He won’t be able to hide it, and he doesn’t want a repeat of last night. Victor was kind, it helped a little—but he still feels coddled, like Victor doesn’t trust him to regain composure on his own. 

This time if he cries, Victor won’t spot it. 

Lips kiss the base of his spine, a second finger joins the first, and Yuuri sighs, spreads his knees wider as his upper half drops further down, his face buried in a pillow and his fists gripping the sheets. He’s going to make a huge mess when he comes, but he’ll worry about that later. His sounds are muffled by the (high quality, he just notices) linens. 

Victor is three fingers deep and stroking his prostate. Yuuri’s cock pulses and drips onto the bed. “Can you—“ 

“Okay,” Victor says. Another kiss at the base of his spine, and he hears Victor shuck off his briefs and lube up. “Yuuri, if you don’t like this, tell me to stop.” 

“I’m not gonna have a problem,” Yuuri manages. “Keep going.” 

“Alright,” Victor says. He sounds like _he’s_ the one having doubts, but Yuuri feels his bare cockhead enter him for the first time and…it’s different. “There?” 

“More,” Yuuri says. “It’s not enough to tell.” 

Victor complies until he’s in as far as he’ll go, and Yuuri breathes. It’s…better, he thinks. Like it’s more intimate this way with not even a thin latex barrier between them. It’s them entwined and wrapped together, and yeah, Yuuri’s gonna cry. He was originally going to weep because of sadness, of having to let go, but now the tears will fall because he’s struck by the implications of how much Victor trusts him, just like how he’d follow Victor off a cliff and smile the entire free fall down. 

Victor takes his time, in and out slowly with Yuuri under him, Yuuri’s hands barely-not clawing holes into the bed linens. He takes it, he takes it all, and Victor’s oddly quiet like he feels he’ll disturb the sanctity of the moment. Yuuri has matched this, biting back the sounds he normally sets loose with abandon. Yuuri keeps his eyes closed, his chest low and his spine angling just so that Victor’s in the perfect position for his cock to drag across the spot that makes him see stars. 

“It feels good?” Victor eventually asks. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri manages. It does—the lack of that one barrier makes his heart sing, and the actual physical sensation is really damn nice. He’s still in a touch of pain, but it’s outweighed by the intimacy and affection. He reaches a hand back, gripping Victor’s thigh as best he can to urge him deeper, farther. “Can’t wait to feel you come, can’t wait for you to fill me up—“ 

Victor jerks with a strangled noise and stutters his hips a few times with no rhythm. Yuuri feels something hot spurt inside him and his eyes snap open. His head lifts with shock all over his face. Victor’s hands, one on his back, the other on his hip, shake. He makes little noises of dismay. 

“Did you just—“ 

“Your fault,” Victor defends himself. “You can’t say that to me, not during the first time. It’s unfair.” 

Yuuri laughs. He has to, it’s so ridiculous, especially as this is also a first. “What the actual fuck, Vitya.” 

Victor snorts. “You don’t usually say things like _that_ either. Should I wash your mouth with soap?” <

“I should change your nickname from Living Legend to Quick Draw,” Yuuri bites back. 

“I _was_ going to blow you to make up for it, but you can forget it now,” Victor chirps as he pulls out. Yuuri can feel to come start to leak down his body—it’s delightful in its filth. He wants more. 

“Fine, then I’ll jerk off in the shower with door locked so you can’t see anything,” Yuuri responds. “I’m gonna be extra noisy too, yelling your name over and over—“ 

Victor growls, gripping Yuuri’s hair tight in his hand and pulling him up. Yuuri’s dick goes from _hard_ to _literal marble_ , flushing purple in the process. “Oh really?” Victor says directly in his ear like a villain in a romance novel. 

Yuuri’s eyes aim sideways since he can’t turn his head in Victor’s grip. This is a surprise, but it’s good. He liked the manhandling in the bathroom during the Cup of China. Its return is very pleasing. “I don’t know,” Yuuri says to egg him on. “You think you should get to watch? You haven’t earned any kind of gift, you know?” 

Victor pulls his head back tighter, and his still-lubed fingers wrap around Yuuri’s cock. “Hm." 

Yuuri doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a cry or even a moan, biting his lip while he looks up at the ceiling—he can’t look anywhere else from the way his hair is gripped. His scalp stings like shit, but he doesn’t care at all when Victor bites the nape of his neck, the meat of his shoulder as he jacks him hard. 

Yuuri closes his eyes, tastes blood on his lips from his teeth as his hips move with Victor’s hand. His left arm reaches up and back, his fingers awkwardly sliding over Victor’s cheekbones and jawline. He won’t give in, he won’t, he _won’t_ — 

“Fuck, Vitya,” he says as he folds with such grace it’s like he capitulated to an attacking empire. “That—yeah like that, just—harder, Vitya _please_ —“ 

Vitya bites the side of his neck and almost crosses into a dirty-self defense move with the change in grip on his cock, and Yuuri detonates, his come spurting so high it splatters the underside of his chin, collarbone, and abs. 

Yuuri thinks he may have shouted, but he doesn’t care. Though, it’s for the best they’re not at the onsen. “Ah, God,” he manages. “God.” 

The noise that emanates from Victor’s throat is smug. “Hm. It seems like someone had a good time.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a braggart,” Yuuri replies with his voice openly playful. “It’s like I said before we started, that whole sex-witchery thing.” 

“That again,” Victor says in a flat tone as he traces the red imprints of his teeth with his tongue. 

Yuuri wants another round; he thinks they came to bed early enough. “Can we?” he asks, his voice throaty though his breathing hasn’t slowed since the last round—at least, not fully. 

Victor laughs into his skin, little soothing light-in-his-heart-filling breaths. “That was my plan.” 

Yuuri, who just realized Victor let go of his hair who knows how long ago, turns around. Victor looks up and they kiss, Yuuri grabbing and twisting them down onto the bed face-to-face on their sides. Victor’s half-hard again already, Yuuri only needing a little more time to meet him where he is. 

Victor pauses between kisses. “We have all the time in the world,” he reiterates with a soft note of devotion. 

Yuuri closes his eyes. 

Maybe they do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know what you all really, really want and it's set into motion here, but bear with me for the second half okay? It really will be less than a week._


	12. Tanjoubi Omedetou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri turns 24. The day does not run smooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm here forty minutes later than I said like this fic is a Starbucks drink and I'm coming to work with you as my middle manager.
> 
> I also cried writing two scenes in this, so if you also cry I accept responsibility and offer you kleenex and a pat on the shoulder. Also: Hiroko Katsuki Protection Squad for life.
> 
> So many pieces of music keep cropping up relevant to these particular variants of our boys---one song in particular in this will be very important later. When you see the big stretch of lyrics in their bedroom, it's John Legend's "You and I (Nobody in the World.) When Yuuko trolls them, it's "Timber" by Pitbull and Kesha. Phichit's ringtone on Yuuri's phone is "We Are Young" by fun with Janelle Monae. His name in Yuuri's phone is from this [BOSS twitter thread](https://twitter.com/toastasaurus/status/806899745394401280).
> 
> I'm not even REMOTELY apologetic about Yuuri's gifts from Victor and what the boys do in them. Yuuri's wanted it since he was old enough to have those type of feelings. Let them live 2k17.
> 
> Yuuko needs more love in fics. Also, "spaghetti arms" is a Dirty Dancing reference. Don't @ me. We also get the return of the Thai Prince via phone call. Also FUCK CHAD. CHAD KNOWS WHAT HE'S DONE.

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/37256342866/in/dateposted-public/)  


“Oh my god, you _spaghetti armed_ piece of sh—“ Yuuri yelps on his way down from over six feet in the air unceremoniously onto his ass in the middle of the ice.

Victor stands over him while covering his face with both hands. “I am sorry, I am so sorry, _gomen nasai, gomen, gomen, moushi wakenai_ —“

“There is no amount of _gomen_ in the world,” Yuuri spits. “This is the fourth time. I’m being abused.”

Victor kneels next to him, gold blades carefully arranged so he doesn’t get sliced. “Yuuri,” he begins. “ _Lapochka._ ”

Yuuri exhales, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re making it up to me tonight.”

“How would you like me to?” Victor asks with a smile. He holds Yuuri’s hands, and they help each other stand. “Should I cover you in healing kisses?”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, but there’s a smile on his face. “Hm. Keep going.”

“After a long, deep massage,” Victor elaborates. His voice is that smooth tone that goes right to Yuuri’s soul and renders him powerless. The innocent, puppyish look in his eyes has this effect as well. “I promise, Yuuri, you’ll feel no pain when I’m through.”

“Maybe I want a _little_ pain,” Yuuri counters. His gloved fingers caress the contrasting hem of Victor’s gray Under Armour shirt. He did a series of ads for them a few years ago including a television spot. 

Yuuri may have the exact second he appears memorized from obsessively rewatching it on Youtube. 

“I’ll turn the hose on you two!” Yuuko shouts from the boards. She leans against the wall near the rink entrance, her white hoodie covered in dust smudges from inventory. The look in her eyes is both annoyed and amused. The rest of her expression is what her husband calls the All-Business Face.

Victor and Yuuri’s heads whip to her, Victor coughing and lowering his gaze as Yuuri’s cheeks turn bright pink. “Yuu-chan, we—“ He has no excuse. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” she replies. “You’re way too pleased with yourselves to be sorry.”

Yuuri blinks while Victor laughs. “This is possibly the worst I’ve ever been dragged,” Victor says. “And I’m including my first season in seniors after I finished growing and had no sense of balance until it was far too late.”

Yuuri gives him a fond look. “I always felt they were unfair to you.”

“Thank you! Someone finally agrees!” Victor shouts with a triumphant gesture. 

“Your PCS was unaffected,” Yuuri continues. “It was like they felt some need to check your ego.”

“That’s what Yakov said!” Victor takes Yuuri’s hands with bright, shining eyes. “I’m so glad. No one else ever sees it that way.”

“It’s the truth,” Yuuri says with a shrug. 

“I’ve not agreed with a lot of your scoring, either,” Victor says. 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow with a bemused smile. “I fall down. A lot.”

“Your PCS, I feel, hasn’t been justified upon occasion,” Victor says. “I review a lot of your old programs while you’re at Minako’s. If I had any say, your medal count would be quite a bit higher.”

Yuuri’s default reaction is to question if Victor needs glasses. Then he realizes what it means for Victor to feel this way. “Thank you, Vitya.” He gives him a soft, shy smile. Victor closes the distance, but before they can kiss a harmonica blares like the tornado sirens back in Detroit which never failed to ruin Phichit’s entire day. His forehead knocks into Yuuri’s, and white spots fill his vision. “Ow!”

_It’s goin’ down! I’m yellin’ timber! You better move—you better dance! Let’s make a night you won’t remember—I’ll be the one you won’t forget!_

Yuuko stands with a deadpan expression, dock remote in one hand pointedly raising the volume of Pitbull and Kesha into a a near-cacophony. Her eyebrow rises with the sound until Victor takes initiative and skates away from Yuuri—one meter exactly. He holds up his hands like a suspect caught by a cop.

Yuuri folds his arms across his chest. “Remember that day? The one at the beach? Remember how I didn’t complain once?”

Yuuko Nishigori—Ice Castle Hasetsu Business Manager, first of her name and mother of three, Yuuri’s oldest friend, thrower of Kyushu’s Best Haymaker—sours further. Then a fake, overly sweet smile passes on her lips. “What was that?” she intones.

Continuing to protest would be unwise. Yuuri swallows. “I mean…we’ll be more professional. Sorry, Yuu-chan.”

Her smile turns genuine as she clicks to a different song. It’s an oldie, one Celestino played a lot in Detroit—he’d lived in that city so long he became a big fan of the music that shares its name. Yuuri never minded it and Phichit loved some of the flashier girl groups, but it’s weird how in this moment it causes him to be homesick for Detroit while standing in Hasetsu.

He definitely should call Phichit.

 _You’re too beautiful to be good—_ the woman belts. _What’s a girl to do, when she finds out her man doesn’t believe her love is true?_

Victor taps his shoulder. “If you are willing,” he asks with an affectionate, pleading gaze. “I would like to try again.”

“We’ll keep going until it works,” Yuuri agrees. “Even if my ass never recovers.”

Victor winks with a knowing smile. He skates back to his starting place, hidden from the “crowd.” He takes the remote from Yuuko and selects the duet song. Yuuri takes his position in the center. 

The music begins, sweeping through the building, and Yuuri lifts his head with a reverent expression, reaching up and then into himself. He skates the beginning of the program the way he spent months refining, the way he did when he was caught on film, and at the designated moment after a solid quad, Victor skates to him. 

Yuuri smiles as they subtly embrace, and they go through the movements together. Being in sync was never the issue aside from minor hiccups at the start—they naturally move as if their hearts beat in tandem. 

The problem, the sole real problem, is not fucking up the lifts. 

Which, here’s the first. Victor does it, and for once it’s…fine. The end isn’t entirely graceful, but Yuuri stays on his feet. “Better,” he says as they continue.

“Why, thank you,” Victor teases. They skate face-to-face, and Yuuri seizes his opportunity to run his hand across Victor’s cheek. Victor’s smile softens as his eyes shimmer with love, and they get through the next lift with greater ease. 

Yuuri ends the program by lifting Victor, which they decided made sense as it’s his competition and since he has better stamina. By the time the song crescendos, the vocalists in perfect harmony, Yuuri lifts Victor. Their eyes lock together like no one else exists, and Yuuri brings Victor back down. 

The last note fades.

Yuuri almost doesn’t hear it.

If Phichit were present (thank God he isn’t) he would say they are having a Moment, yes with the capital M. He would play some annoyingly appropriate song like he keeps doing, he’d possibly shout at them to kiss, causing Yuuko to eject him from the premises, and he’d catcall during his forced exit. 

Yuuri is grateful as much as he loves Phichit he is in Bangkok and unaware, because all Yuuri can think of is Beyonce who he is slowly deciding should be Queen like Victor has believed since he was a teenager. _In the darkest night, I’ll search through the crowd—your face is all that I’ll see, I’ll give you everything, baby love me lights out._

“Yuuri-kun!” three young voices sing-song. “Victor-kun!”

Yuuri starts and turns to the girls. Axel, Lutz, and Loop have arrived from school, their father following behind with a bright grin. Yuuko’s off shift, Takeshi taking over to close the rink, and he walked the girls here so she can take them home. Yuuko sighs and wrangles her children, which is always entertaining as an observer, but this time Yuuri sees himself in her place with a variety of kids with his hair and Victor’s eyes, a gold band on his finger as he kisses Victor goodbye so he can coach his newest charge.

Blinking fast, Yuuri swallows and licks his lips, turning away. He senses Victor’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t speak. He puts his hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck, stroking the definitely longer than normal hairs there. “Come,” Victor says. “We can end here.”

Yuuri looks at him with a weak smile. They skate off the rink, put the guards on their blades, and change into their regular shoes. From there they pack, say their goodbyes, and head home. Victor hums, Yuuri exhales and sees his breath. It’s not as cold as Detroit and his homesickness is cured out of gratitude. 

“What would you like for dinner? Should we go to Yu-Topia?” Victor asks a third of way through town.

“Mmm, we’re going tomorrow,” Yuuri reminds him. “The thing you won’t tell me about that’s clearly some kind of birthday surprise. Since that’s _also_ tomorrow.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Victor chimes in with a smile. “We need to book the Barcelona flights, don’t let me forget. I got the email from the JSF about the allowance. They asked about the room type, too, but I didn’t give an answer yet.”

“Why n—“ Both of them stop and make high pitched sounds at what’s ten feet ahead, Yuuri because while they gained in popularity during his time in the US they were still a rarity, and Victor because thanks to his time in Japan they are now his second favorite after poodles.

A couple holds three leashes between them for their family of Shiba Inus—two adults, one puppy . They are adorable, fluffy, and aloof, just as they always should be. The puppy is basically a buttered little ball of red. Victor makes grabby hands while Yuuri takes a picture for the Dogspotting Japan FB page. The couple notices, and they smile at them. 

Yuuri bows and asks if they can be pet. The man agrees for the one with the blue collar and the puppy, though he’s quick to warn the one with the red collar doesn’t like strange humans. They thank them, and make sure to only approach the friendly dogs. After several minutes of Japanese and Russian endearments plus pets and scritches, they all part ways with cheerful goodbyes and good luck wishes for Yuuri in Barcelona.

“Anyways,” Yuuri says as they resume their conversation. “Why didn’t you tell them the room type?”

“Because I thought this time we might not care if people know there’s only one bed,” Victor says with his words soft and hesitant, like Yuuri will punch him for having this notion.

“Mmm,” Yuuri answers. “Nope. I don’t care at all.”

Victor smiles. “Good. I’ll tell them one room with one big, cozy bed.”

Yuuri’s cheeks darken but he grins. “Okay. Also, we have that stuff for the stew. I’ll make that for dinner, if you like?”

“That sounds delicious,” Victor says. “Warm and hearty.”

“Yeah. Also—good! I think you’ll like it,” Yuuri replies as he adjusts the right strap of his bag. Victor takes his free hand, swinging it between them like they’re kids. “It’s always popular as a special at the inn.”

Victor smiles at him. He lifts their hands, kissing the back of Yuuri’s. Yuuri tries to roll his eyes but he can’t, smiling and blushing too brightly to try to downplay his joy. They walk up their front path and on the doorstep are large cardboard boxes. There’s four of them, Yuuri counts.

Yuuri didn’t order anything, so he immediately gives Victor a raised eyebrow. 

Victor raises one finger to his lips with a wink. “Later,” he assures him as he balances two of them in his arms. Yuuri takes the other two as Victor unlocks the door and lets them inside. Makkachin lifts his head from the couch, his tail thudding against the fabric. “Hi Makkachin.”

Makkachin smiles and walks over to them. Victor takes the other packages from Yuuri with another wink into their bedroom. Yuuri watches him go with a confused expression before sighing. “Come on, doggo,” he says to Makka. “Let’s get you walked!”

He strolls along the beach with Makkachin as the waves crash several meters away. Every time Makkachin starts to eye the water too intently, Yuuri calls him back with a whistle. He picks up some driftwood and they play fetch for a bit, but Makkachin isn’t a puppy anymore as much as he thinks otherwise and he tires quickly. Yuuri sits on a rock while their dog chases some unhappy gulls, taking a short video to add to his Instagram. He captions it “my dog is the avatar of happiness” and it goes up. 

Likes and comments flood, and Yuuri skims them. Most of the people are screaming about Makkachin’s cuteness—which, yes, he’s glad they acknowledge his superiority. 

There’s a bunch calling out the phrasing of “my” dog, but in an eager and weird way. _MY dog??? Does this mean you and Victor—OH MY GOD!_ says quadflip517. 

Yuuri sighs. What has science done?

He gets a new comment notification—it’s actually Victor himself. _What’s mine is Yuuri’s, no question!_ he proclaims with their blue heart and a couple winking-kissy faces. 

Yuuri’s throat dries out and he smiles. His heart fills and he bites his bottom lip while looking back to the house. “Come on, Makka,” he says.

Makka looks at him and follows, trotting beside him as they enter the back door of their temporary home. Yuuri sets his shoes down as Makka gets a few drinks of water. Yuuri finds Victor, who is in a sweater instead of his gray puffer coat, and he wraps his arms around him from behind. 

Victor chuckles. “ _Lapochka_ ,” he says.

“What’s mine is yours too,” Yuuri whispers into the gray cable knit. 

Victor inhales and his hands cover Yuuri’s. They stay together like this until Makkachin gets on his hind paws and bats at their hips with a front one. They both laugh as Victor lets go with one hand to pet the poodle, appeasing him. 

“I’ll start dinner,” Yuuri says. He heads to the kitchen and gets the broth boiling. It’s a seafood based stew, and Victor assists after washing his hands by chopping the squid into bite-sized pieces. It goes in the pot first, then the shellfish bit by bit. Yuuri spoons it into bowls, and they sit and eat in comfortable silence. 

It’s nice, Yuuri finds, that he can be with Victor, not talk, and not feel weird or like he has to fill the silences. It took a long time for him to get there with Phichit, though granted Phichit is not often silent to begin with. The longest stretch of Phichit being quiet was after the fiasco with Chad.

Yuuri’s fist clenches. _Chad_.

“Are you alright?” Victor asks with concern. He has a Pocari Sweat, because he loves Pocari Sweat. Yuuri doesn’t understand what’s wrong with his taste buds for this, but then again he puts jam in his tea. Russia is weird and it’s given Victor weird ideas of what constitutes good food.

“Phichit’s worst decision in three years of living in Michigan was a guy named Chad,” Yuuri explains with a bitter tone. “Chad liked to wear pink shirts with the collars popped and lived in a frat house for rich kids in Ann Arbor. Chad listened to music made by men wailing about pretty, cigarette-smoking girls that make four minute songs last twenty in concert with only an acoustic guitar. Chad smoked a lot of marijuana and hates dogs.”

Victor’s eyes narrow at the last. It is unforgivable in his eyes. 

Yuuri agrees. It’s how he knew this guy was a dumpster fire before Phichit did, though he kept quiet because even he knows that’s not cool.

Yuuri narrows his eyes at the memory. “Chad thinks it’s okay to tell Phichit they’re exclusive and then sleep with anything that moves behind his back, thinking no one will tell him or he won’t find out since Ann Arbor and Detroit are a forty minute drive apart. Chad also thinks it’s okay to make weirdly racist comments about Phichit being Thai, like he was fetishizing him or using him to rebel against his dad or something.”

Victor’s eyes are now huge. The laundry list of Chad’s unique brand of shittiness will do that, Yuuri supposes.

Yuuri cracks his knuckles. “Chad regretted those choices. From what we heard, Chad also learned some valuable life lessons.”

“Yuuri—“ Victor hesitates. “What did Phichit do?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri answers breezily. “I had a talk with Chad. It was brief and I didn’t give him a chance for much of a rebuttal. Still…he learned that day.” Yuuri sips his tea. “I don’t appreciate people deliberately hurting my friends.”

They’ve both finished, and Yuuri gathers the bowls to wash. Victor watches him go with some slight dumbstruckness. Just as Yuuri squirts the dish soap into the bowls, Victor clears his throat. 

“Hm?” Yuuri asks with a glance.

“It’s a little hard to imagine,” Victor admits. “You getting that angry. Or…well, angry at all.”

Yuuri shrugs. Victor grabs a clean dishtowel, and they begin the nightly assembly line. “I get angry a lot, it’s just usually at myself. When I’ve made nine attempts at your signature when we practice, and I have to make a tenth because I keep falling. When I couldn’t pin down what ‘Eros’ means to me at first.” He thinks back to just short of a year ago. “Once I stopped crying, once I stopped praying I could be forgiven for letting everyone down—God, I was _so angry_ about Sochi. All-Japan pissed me off worse.”

Yuuri’s hands grip the bowl too tight—with them being wet, he risks dropping it, causing it to possibly shatter. He takes a deep breath, then another. 

“After the anger, that was when I got depressed,” Yuuri continues. “That was when I decided to come home. I let Celestino go after Sochi, like…the day after. I had no coach at All-Japan, and I didn’t tell Minako for her to temporarily step in. I did it completely alone, still mad about Sochi, still raw from Vicchan, and…I finished eleventh. Won gold the year before, eleventh only one year later—can’t even use my age as an excuse, you know? So I finished my degree, packed, donated my things in Michigan, and came back with my tail between my legs.”

Victor listens as he finishes drying. It takes Yuuri a minute to realize he’s not doing anything except staring at the tile on the wall above the sink, like he’s in some kind of trance. Victor’s damp hands take his wet and sudsy ones, his thumbs massaging the backs of his knuckles. 

“We all fall down sometimes,” Victor says. 

Yuuri looks at him, his glasses having slipped to the tip of his nose. 

“We do, we all fall down,” Victor continues. “What matters is that we pick ourselves up after. We dust off and try again.” His voice is unfailingly kind. “You got back up on your own before my arrival—Minako and your sister both told me. Hours in the studio practicing, running and other work outs to drop the excess weight…you did that on your own.”

Yuuri opens his mouth before closing it.

“You are so much stronger than you know.” Victor takes the towel, drying both of their hands beginning with Yuuri. “You’ve gotten better since that one day on the beach about allowing yourself to be vulnerable, to admit you need the support when you fight, but you’ve never been weak, Yuuri. You still aren’t. I don’t think you ever could be.”

Yuuri knows that’s wrong—he is, he’s weak for Victor, and if he does leave…Yuuri likely won’t get back up. He tries to push that away, which…more and more, he hasn’t felt like this. More and more he thinks they’re permanent, they’re forever and ’til the end of the line. The vision of them with matching rings, kids with Victor’s eyes and his hair thanks to donors and medical intervention, more poodles, a permanent mailing address—

“I’m—“ Yuuri begins. “It’s easier with you along.”

Victor smiles. “I don’t know—“

“You do, you make it easy,” Yuuri says. “You make it…really easy.”

Victor pulls them together and kisses him. Yuuri’s eyes drift shut as he parts his lips. Victor breaks it with a smile, remembering to put the soup pot in the fridge for leftovers the next day. Then he takes Yuuri’s hands. “How would you like to spend our evening, _lapochka_?”

Yuuri shrugs. They ate earlier than is customary. They’ll probably have sex in some capacity, but right now he isn’t sure he wants that. “Do you have that book? The Neruda book?” he asks.

“Hm,” Victor ponders. “It’s on my Kindle, I think. Why?”

Yuuri flushes. “Read your favorites to me?”

Victor softens. “Of course.”

Victor lies on the couch, Yuuri sitting so his legs drape over his, and Makkachin curls up on top and between them. Victor’s Kindle is next to the couch on an end table, and Yuuri settles so his head’s on Victor’s chest in a way he can read around him easily.

It’s lovely. 

Victor finds a bookmarked poem, and reads, his voice clear and bright, Yuuri’s arms wrapping around him tight. “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this—”

They’re lovely words, some of the loveliest he’s ever heard. Yuuri sighs and closes his eyes to do nothing more than hear the cadence of Victor’s heart with the softness of his recitation. “This makes me think of you,” Yuuri interjects.

“Come again?” Victor asks.

“This poem…it’s how I think of you,” Yuuri clarifies with a bright smile he’s not sure Victor can see.

Victor swallows. His eyes stare ahead of him instead of down at Yuuri, like he’s in a gross state of disbelief. He clears his throat. “Okay.”

 _Me too_ was the answer Yuuri craved. He tries to push down the disappointment. “Keep reading,” he says, though he really wants to come back with, _You say you love me…but you don’t think of me when you read love poetry?_

Victor clears his throat again, and picks a different piece. “My love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.” Now Victor looks at him. “This is the one that always turns my thoughts to you.”

Oh. Yuuri is very glad he didn’t ask before. His cheeks turn pink. “Oh um…thank you.”

“There’s another one,” Victor says. This time as he reads, his voice thickens with a husky tone like they’re in a smokey bar. He drawls the words like honey, and Yuuri’s temperature rises a few degrees. “Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me; all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails—I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.”

Yuuri meets his eyes, his breathing a little heavier than it should be from someone saying a few stanzas of a poem. “Vitya—“

Victor’s lips on his disarm his thoughts. They always do, it’s an expected response to a stimulus at this point. Yuuri turns, presses their chests together and winds his hands in Victor’s hair, the strands soft like spun fiber. Victor pushes where he pulls, gives when he takes, and Yuuri is lost in him, the taste of the stew and the plush, velvet texture of his lips. He swallows a sound Victor makes as he presses one hand to the spot on Victor’s ribcage protecting his heart. 

Victor breaks the kiss, the shifting of his feet causing an irritated Makkachin to grumble and leave their nest. “May I, Yuuri?” he asks, his hands stroking over Yuuri’s cheeks.

“Be more specific,” Yuuri teases. He runs his nails over Victor’s scalp, causing him to shiver. 

“May I take you to bed?” Victor says. 

“Hm well, should I let you?” Yuuri fake ponders.

“Yes or no,” Victor prompts. 

Yuuri laughs. “Like I’m gonna say no.”

Victor gestures, and Yuuri stands taking Victor with him. Victor pulls him, walking backwards, to their bedroom. The door is closed, which is mysterious as they typically leave it open so Makkachin can come and go as he pleases. Victor nudges the door with the back of his heel—it’s not latched apparently, only mostly shut.

There’s warm, flickering light filling the space, Yuuri notes as Victor continues their journey. The room is illuminated by candles—fat pillars that match rubies, long white tapers in silver holders, and smaller, true red votives like the jacket Yuuri’s commandeered. 

Yuuri tries to look disapproving but his mouth twitches. “Fire hazard. The extinguisher’s close, right?”

“Do shut up,” Victor says with a grin. The bed’s made with a spare, much more extravagant set of linens—they’re a shade of deep red with a texture like silk. 

“You forgot a million rose petals,” Yuuri adds. “And I think there’s also supposed to be champagne or something? I’ve seen American romantic dramas, I know the score.”

“I told you to be quiet,” Victor says with a laugh. “You are, without fail, ruining the ambience.”

Yuuri laughs. “I cannot believe I’m going to spend my life with a cliche.”

Both of them realize what he’s said at the same time, Yuuri’s face burning a darker red than the sheets. Victor’s eyes are like the stars reflected in the sea. He looks so moved, like Yuuri just brought color inside his world with his awkward, overly declarative statement.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri mumbles. “It’s too—I shouldn’t—“

“No!” Victor actually barks the word, like Yuuri did something wrong. “No. No do not—do not think I wish you would not say those things.”

Yuuri hazards a look; Victor is bursting with joy and a bit of blatant shock.

“I’ve wai—-“ He stops and tries again, his hands cupping Yuuri’s face so he can’t look away. “Please. Tell me as often as you wish.”

“Uh—“ Yuuri stammers. Really? Victor likes…really? “Okay. I’ll try,” he manages with a crooked smile. 

Victor kisses his forehead, and when Yuuri opens his eyes, his vision’s blurring, the familiar halo of myopia surrounding Victor’s face. “Hey,” he only kind of complains as Victor sets his eyewear out of the way. Victor hums a little under his breath, the song sultry and unfamiliar. Yuuri wants to ask, but then Victor removes both of their shirts. 

Yuuri realizes they’re not fully taking advantage of having their own house. “Why haven’t we fucked on the sofa?” he wonders. “The kitchen table. The outdoor bath. The other rooms, even.”

“Hm,” Victor responds. “We have time that we can remedy this oversight.”

“Good,” Yuuri says. He lies on the red duvet in only his boxers. Victor joins him leaning over him in a way that’s possessive and loving in equal measure. “For now though—“

“For now,” Victor agrees as they kiss. 

They make love well into the night, using words infrequently as little more can be said that their bodies cannot convey. When they finally rest, wrapped in each other, Yuuri kisses a spot on the underside of Victor’s jaw, sighing into his skin. Now is when he should use his words, Yuuri decides, and as he opens his mouth, he realizes that Victor’s breathing is deep, even, and slow. 

He’s fast asleep.

Yuuri smiles. “You make me want to be a better person.”

Victor doesn’t awaken, but he seems to hear him regardless as his arms pull Yuuri closer. Yuuri closes his eyes and sleeps too, his dreaming full of a beachside wedding in Hasetsu with their closest loved ones.

_——_

“Yuuri,” Victor croons at some unholy hour that cannot be human.

The only response Yuuri dignifies this with is, of course, mumbled curse words.

“Yuuuuuuuurrrriiiiiii—“ Victor tries again.

“Ugh, _what_?” Yuuri complains.

“It’s 5:24,” Victor announces. “Which means you are now officially twenty-four years old! _S dnyem roshdeniya, tanjoubi omedetou, yom hu'ledet sameach_ , happy birthday, and _bon anniversaire_!”

Yuuri opens his eyes with a withering stare. “Vitya.”

Victor, in spite of the fact that they had to be awake until at least one, is glowing and chipper like a Disney prince. It hardly matters because Yuuri will beat him to death any moment. 

No jury will convict him. 

Victor grins and checks the time on his phone. “Okay, it’s over.”

Yuuri groans. “I can’t believe you.”

“I love you,” Victor replies. “Go back to sleep. That’s all I needed.”

“God,” Yuuri whines. “If you weren’t my favorite thing, I’d literally kick you out of bed right now.”

Victor stiffens and gasps. “I’m what?”

Yuuri sighs and snuggles closer. “You’re my favorite thing—animal, mineral, or vegetable. Should go without saying.” He yawns so large his jaw pops. His eyes close with a smile on his lips. “You’re the best, Vitya, but this was annoying and I’m sleeping more. _Oyasumi_.”

Victor kisses his hair, and Yuuri dozes again, a bright dream of a gold medal position on a podium and Victor’s winning smile as he lavishes Yuuri with praise. It’s a great dream made better by the presence of gold bands on their fingers and equal measure of congratulations from fans for their wedding as well as Yuuri’s victory. 

When he wakes again, he’s the only human in the bed——Makkachin has taken Victor’s place, warm and snuffling as he opens his brown puppy eyes to look at Yuuri. His tail thumps into the bed, and Yuuri smiles as he rubs behind an ear. “Hi, Makka.”

Makka huffs and shifts closer to lick under Yuuri’s chin. His tongue then strokes the corner of his lips, and Yuuri laughs. “Gross,” he mock-complains.

Makka quietly boofs and Yuuri sits up, cracking his neck. As he does, his phone rings. _Give me a second, I need to get my story straight—my friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the Empire State. My lover she is waiting for me, she sits across the bar——_

_gurl u wish_ is the listed name, who is more commonly known as Phichit Chulanont. 

Yuuri answers the Facetime request. “Hi.”

“Happy birth—“ Phichit trails off. “Sex hair and no shirt. Is this a bad time?” he asks with a leer.

Yuuri sighs. “It’s not sex hair, it’s bed hair. Victor is somewhere around the house. The timing is fine.” He thinks. “And stay out of my business.”

“Rude,” Phichit replies with a snort. “Anyways—HAPPY BIRTHDAY! You are the oldest now you’ve ever been…and now you’re even older.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, but he smiles. “Thanks. That’s grand.”

Phichit beams. “Did your Living Legend give you your spankings yet? You get twenty-five.” His eyebrows waggle.

“Hanging up on you—“ Yuuri begins.

Phichit cracks up. “You’re so easy.”

Yuuri grabs the bridge of his nose. 

The laughter continues. “Oh man, your face. I love you so much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuuri says. 

Phichit wipes a tear away. “In all seriousness, are you doing anything special?”

“Some thing at the onsen though no one will tell me what,” Yuuri says as he stretches with his arms extended above his head. 

“Your man planned a big surprise, probably,” Phichit says. “I have until February thank goodness.”

“That’s good,” Yuuri trails off as he registers that Victor’s birthday is on Christmas Day. Though he maybe shouldn’t get ahead of himself—it’s after the Final, so Victor may be gone by then. 

Yuuri makes a vague plan for them to go to Tokyo anyways. There’s a nice restaurant the JSF took him and Celestino to when he got gold at All-Japan. Victor would like it. Victor would adore it. It’s worth planning for, anyways. If it doesn’t happen, then no big deal.

So he tells himself five times in a row.

“I have a present for you,” Phichit says. “I can send it your way, or I can wait until Barca.”

“Barcelona’s better if you think you’ll have the luggage space,” Yuuri says. “Customs can be a pain—I may not get it for a month.”

“It was a lot easier when all I had to do was knock on the next door and shove it in your face,” Phichit says, his voice contemplative. He lights up. “We should get some kind of skater commune! Then we won’t have to miss each other! Though Kindergarten Yuri can wait until he gets less puffy.”

“Don’t call him that where he can hear,” Yuuri says with a snort. “Also, he’s not that bad.”

Phichit frowns. “…Didn’t he scream in your face about how you’re a loser last GPF?”

“I was a loser last GPF,” Yuuri replies.

There’s a tic in Phichit’s jaw. “We’re not arguing about this, but I will point out _again_ that you’re way too hard on yourself like always. To the point where I kind of want to shake you sometimes.”

“It’s a valid lifestyle choice,” Yuuri concedes. He grew up with Mari—he knows the score.

“When you get into Barca, what are you up to?” Phichit says.

“We haven’t booked the flights yet, I don’t think—“ Yuuri ponders. “When I have an ETA, I’ll hit you up.”

“Make time for Sagrada Familia with me!” Phichit beams. “Besties selfie in front of it! I got an awesome new Bluetooth selfie stick!”

“You are the only person in the world who doesn’t look douchey with those,” Yuuri says.

“Why thank you,” Phichit replies.

Yuuri laughs. “Yeah, when I know more, we’ll see! It’ll be nice to see you again in real life.”

“Yeah! It’ll be great!” Phichit’s grin turns sly. “And I’ll get to be with Swiss Bae!”

“…You don’t really call him that?” He already knows the answer.

“Yup!” Phichit winks. “Swiss Bae and Bianca!”

“Are you two doing anything romantic?” Yuuri bothers. Hey, it’s fair play.

Phichit hums. “He told me to clear time after practice the day before the short, but he won’t spill why.”

“That’s a yes,” Yuuri says. “Good.”

“I think it is,” Phichit grins with sparkles in his eyes. “Anyways, I’m gonna go—it’s your birthday, not mine, which means I have practice while you don’t, but I’ll catch you later! _S̄uk̄hs̄ạnt̒ wạn keid!_ ”

“ _K̄hx k̄hxbkhuṇ!_ ” Yuuri replies and hangs up. 

The nick of time, too, as Makkachin excitedly sits up. The door opens and Victor comes in with a giant tray. Yuuri puts on his glasses so he can see—there’s a lit candle in a stack of some kind of pancake. “Good morning, _lapochka_ ,” Victor says. “Breakfast in bed for the birthday boy.”

Yuuri turns red and ducks his head. “Oh. Wow, um you didn’t—“

“I wanted to,” Victor says. The tray sits across Yuuri’s lap—-fluffier and thicker but smaller in diameter pancake things, sausages, and—“

“Did you learn how to make the hash browns?” Yuuri balks. Golden, crispy shredded potatoes with butter sit on the plate.

“Lots of butter and I used the food processor to shred the potato,” Victor says. “I found the recipe online. Please. Eat.”

Yuuri digs in, and it’s all delicious, of course, because his man knows his way around a kitchen. “What kind of pancakes are these?” he asks between bites. 

“Ah they’re _syrniki_ ,” Victor explains. “My family recipe going back several generations!”

Yuuri’s heart melts. “They’re really good. Thank you, _koibito_.”

“Of course,” Victor says. He checks his social media while Yuuri finishes his breakfast, washing it down with the _genmaicha_ Victor prepared. Victor is especially attractive this morning, with slightly mussed and damp hair from cooking, a thick oatmeal sweater that looks grandfatherly (even with leather elbow patches), warm-looking blue lounge pants, and woolen socks. 

Yuuri takes his glasses off and grabs Victor’s phone, putting it aside. Victor takes longer than he should to realize his mobile is gone, but by the time he blinks, Yuuri is in his face. “Hi,” he says.

“May I help you in some way?” Victor replies with a smile.

“You should get back under the covers with me,” Yuuri says. “I’m chilly. Warm me up.”

Victor snorts. “And you say I’m the dork.”

“It’s my birthday, so I get what I want,” Yuuri points out. “And that’s you under the blankets.”

Victor eyes him with the scrutiny of a homicide detective.

Yuuri huffs. “Remember how you woke me before dawn for one minute?”

Victor sighs. “Perhaps I have a very specific plan for later this evening as part of your present that entails me being under the covers with you.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to bark at him but chooses to stay silent. 

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” Victor says, smug, as he sips the mug of black tea with his hideous jam he brought on the tray for himself. “It goes along with those packages I received.”

The _packages_. Yuuri lights up. “Can…I have them now?”

Victor sips from his mug, and Yuuri can see he’s trying to come to a decision. “It was going to be for us to partake when we return from the onsen,” he says.

“Please,” Yuuri says a second time. He’s being annoying and immature, but he can’t help it. He never told Victor to get him anything——really, having Victor here is enough, it’s the best gift ever—but… _presents_ that Victor got for him. He’s dying of curiosity.

They look in each other’s eyes for several minutes, Yuuri giving Victor a pleading look he definitely perfected by observing Vicchan, and Victor’s pitiful attempts at being stern outside of a rink. 

Victor sighs and gets up, walking to their closet, picking up two garment bags, though a third is left behind. Yuuri only has a second to wonder what that one is when Victor lowers a zipper on the one draped over his arm on top—he nods, satisfied, and then hands it to Yuuri. “This one’s yours.”

Yuuri drapes it across his lap—it feels kind of…fluffy. At least, compared to a program costume. He wonders what it could be as he drags the zipper down. At the halfway point, he sees a lot of white, some pink hearts, blue fabric with thin golden stripes…

It can’t be… _can it_?

The bag is open, and Yuuri pulls out the garment by its hanger—a dark blue sailor collar with golden lines embroidered in it is attached to a white leotard. The leotard is sleeveless except for three layers of iridescent pale pink silk organza, and there’s a large matching bow on the back at the waist. There’s a mini-skirt that starts blue at the hem that is an ombre of green and yellow turning into white. There is also a pair of white opera-length gloves with pink rings attached, a pink bow on the chest of the leotard with a small brooch in the center, and pink boots.

“Super Sailor Moon,” Yuuri says. He doesn’t—maybe he gets it? But if he’s wrong—

Victor’s unzipped his bag, and he has a black suit jacket with tails and dark gray trim on the lapels, a white shirt with a gold ornament around the throat tied from a red silk ribbon, a silver vest that matches Victor’s hair, a long red-lined black cape, and a white mask shaped like cat’s eye goggles. 

“I decided a long wig for you and the hat for me were imprudent,” Victor explains as he examines some stitching on his suit. “The wig would likely need too much care, and you know my feelings about hats.”

“Yeah, you hate them,” Yuuri says. Upon a second look, the costume is even more detailed than in the art—it’s got little golden beads added in places as well as pearlescent ones for extra shimmer, like the purple shirt in his free program outfit. “How’d you get these? Cosplay costumes aren’t usually this ornate.”

Victor touches his lips with his index finger. “Jan,” he says.

Yuuri nods but then the name hits him. “Jan?” he says with wide eyes. “Jan _Longmire_?”

“Who else,” Victor says with a wave of his hand. “She loved this! It was a fun diversion for her since the season’s in full swing and her queue is relatively empty! She’s a friend—she’s done some of Mila’s costumes, and she introduced us. Also—“ He winks. “She’s a Katuski Yuuri fan.”

Yuuri stares at him. “What.”

“She is,” Victor says. “She’s commented a lot on the pictures I post to social media, and she looked into you more. She’s become quite a fan, so when I asked her to do this as a birthday present she was eager to oblige!”

One of the best costume designers in figure skating is Yuuri’s fan. Yuuri eyes the outfit—it’s good enough quality to skate in for sure, and that’s when Yuuri notices the snaps in the crotch of the leotard. He looks at Victor, who’s picking an imaginary piece of lint off his cape. 

“This is awfully expensive—ostentatious, really—for sex,” Yuuri dryly remarks.

“Why do anything halfway?” Victor replies. “It’s worth it…or rather, I think it’ll be worth it.”

“How’d you know I thought of myself as more like Usagi?” Yuuri asks. “Because I do—you know, bit of a klutz, kind of a crybaby, would rather eat or sleep…”

“No,” Victor says. “It’s because she doubts her strength and bravery, but she’s the strongest of all of them. She has a better heart than she sees, and she’s the best the world has to offer. Mamoru helps her see this, he’s there to help her stand—but she doesn’t _need him_ to. She gets up on her own, and she always finishes what she starts regardless of difficulty or personal cost.”

Yuuri remembers the dives he took in Sochi so clearly, he can feel the impacts against the ice. He hears his family tell him Vicchan didn’t make it, and he swallows a bitter mouthful of saliva remembering the way he let Japan, his family, Celestino, and (most of all) himself, down. “I don’t see it that way.”

“You don’t,” Victor says matter-of-factly. “But you should. To be honest Yuuri—if Makkachin had died last year, I’d have probably pulled out of the Final. You didn’t do that—you kept going. You finished under difficult circumstances. Sometimes last place is more respectable than the top of the podium.”

Yuuri looks at him with his heart on his sleeve. Victor looks back with a humbling amount of faith and affection. “Thank you,” he says instead of arguing. He holds the costume to his torso—he doesn’t need to put it on to know it fits. He’s going to anyways, just because he thinks he should make sure. “I’m going to try it on.”

“Mmm,” Victor says with a pleased tone. He checks the suit pants for length, holding them to his waist. “Let me see when you’ve finished.”

“Sure,” Yuuri says as he pads to the bathroom without putting any clothing on. The bedroom is a bit chilled and he can’t help a shiver. Fortunately, the lights in the bathroom make it warm and after needing a few minutes to orient the clothing, he pulls it down over his head. It takes a couple of minutes to get everything lined up properly, smooth out and fluff the bows, et cetera.

When he does, though—he looks in the mirror, blurred around the edges while his glasses sit on the sink, and he stares. 

His head angles slightly to the left and he focuses his gaze on the reflection. 

A knock raps on the door. “Yuuri?”

“Mm.” Yuuri doesn’t stop staring.

“Is everything okay? It fits, doesn’t it? I gave her your measurements,” Victor says with a note of fretting in his voice. 

“Come in,” Yuuri answers.

Victor opens the door, his head poking around it before he steps in completely. He stands behind Yuuri in the white shirt, the undone bowtie, gray vest, and trousers from his own ensemble. His eyes meet Yuuri’s in the mirror, and his cheeks become the same pink in the bows. He blushes so prettily, Yuuri thinks, but at the moment Yuuri is the prettier one. “Aren’t you a vision,” Victor says with reverence.

About seven months ago, Yuuri sat in their bedroom fanboying over old skating costumes when a black pile of fabric that felt like leather caught his eye. The outfit he first saw Victor in, the outfit he now wears… _a costume that suggested both masculine and feminine genders_. 

“Maybe I should have—“ Yuuri doesn’t finish.

 _Who am I dancing for? I know who,_ he recalls thinking after an all-nighter for lessons in feminine seduction.

Victor’s eyebrow has risen into his fringe. He’s curious, but Yuuri also sees the brazen heat in his gaze, the way his lips have parted while he licks the bottom one. Yuuri turns to his own face then, seeing the way his own eyes have darkened, his breaths heaving more than they should for a professional athlete standing in one place. 

He takes Victor’s hand, Victor looking down at their joined fingers, and he slides it under the skirt on his thigh. Victor doesn’t gasp, but he inhales through his nose like a shot going off. Yuuri’s eyelids flutter while he takes the invitation, stroking the fine hairs over skin and muscle. It’s barely anything, but it’s _so much_ , and Yuuri understands deep down that besides fleeting instances, Victor’s the only one he’s ever _wanted_.

He had no back up plan that night in June for his deflowering, and there is no plan for when his time with Victor ends. His brain stops, his desire takes the wheel, and he grabs Victor by the shirt, pinning him to the wall next to the towel bar. It’s his birthday, he’s dressed like a wet dream version of his favorite superhero, and Victor is _right there for the taking._

Yuuri plunders Victor’s mouth, the sounds coming from him at first are shocked, then bottoming out into wanton lust. Yuuri regrets not putting on make up so he could smear all over Victor’s face—maybe in Spain when he does “Eros” he can wear some, get the stains on his bespoke dress shirt collar telling the world once again that Yuuri owns him.

He almost can’t hear Victor anymore through this white noise buzzing in him, but he drops to his knees like his switch was flipped to off. It hurts like hell because the skirt doesn’t come close to covering them, so his bare bones impact with the tile hard, but he pays it no mind as he undoes Victor’s fly to mouth at the hard mound in his briefs. He’d rather taste him bare, but the need to wreck him wins. 

Yuuri’s hand sneaks under his skirt, holding his aching length through the smooth, iridescent four-way spandex. His other hand feels around on the counter behind him blindly, knocking his glasses with a clatter to the ground before he grasps what he needs. 

Victor, because he is the perfect man, took into account them not having to share a shower with Yuuri’s family, and he bought them silicone lubricant just in case. Which—yeah, they have, and it almost resulted in Yuuri not being able to compete due to a traumatic brain injury, broken arm, sprained ankle, or all of the above—but still he grabs it and he uses the hand under the skirt to undo the snaps so he can prepare himself. 

Since they do it so regularly, it doesn’t take long these days for either of them, but he spent the evening inside Victor, drawing notes from him like he’s the Marine Cathedral Stradivarius and Yuuri is a virtuoso, so he needs to prep himself, though he hurries right to two fingers with a whine as he sucks a deep mark into Victor’s thigh below his briefs once he yanks the (decorated with silver bugle beads like stars) pants to Victor’s ankles.

It’s a different pop song Yuuri thinks of as he sucks another mark to the inside of Victor’s other thigh. Victor’s oddly quiet right now, but he manages to press one hand into Yuuri’s still-bed-mussed hair, urging him towards the real prize. He knows without Victor begging this once what he needs. 

Yuuri added the third finger a while ago, and it’s not—fuck it, it’s fine, it’s great. He gets back up, bracing his hands against the counter with his spine slightly bent forward, giving a look over his shoulder with a nod at his lover. 

Victor drops the briefs and retrieves the lube. He messily slathers his cock with a cursory stroke, hikes the skirt up over Yuuri’s waist, and slams into him. Yuuri’s knuckles grip the counter, turning the same white as the porcelain. It’s rough, like Beijing, like he lives for at moments such as this, and Yuuri adores it, takes every inch as Victor plows into him slow and hard, like he can leave some kind of permanent mark on Yuuri if he fucks him with all his might.

Yuuri bows his head for a moment before snapping it up with defiance, watching in the mirror as the momentum of Victor’s hips push him into the sink. He hardly recognizes himself—face red, lips bitten and kiss-flushed, bangs plastered to his forehead…the innocent femininity of the costume is in stark contrast to his obviously hard and dripping cock smearing against the silk skirt, to Victor’s grunts behind him as he’s railed. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri rasps. 

Victor slows his thrusts until they stop. 

“Look,” Yuuri urges. “Look at us. I know you like looking at me— _look_!” 

Victor’s cockhead is still sheathed within him, but his eyes had focused on Yuuri’s ass. Now they’re locked blue-green to brown, and Victor makes a breathless moan. “Yes,” he says as he moves again. He grips Yuuri’s hips under the skirt, and Yuuri knows he’s going to bruise more than normal since his fingers actually hurt this time. “You’re beautiful—“

“You’re better,” Yuuri counters, voice pitching higher as he manages to shift his body while in Victor’s grip to angel the slide of his cock just so. He manages it at last. “There! More, please, _motto, koibito! Motto_ —“

The noise Victor makes is almost inhuman. He doesn’t move any faster, but he keeps the angle in tact and he hits Yuuri that much harder. “Yuuri—“

“It’s you, it’s you,” Yuuri says. He doesn’t really register what the words are, just that they spill out of him like a secret when he’s had too much to drink. “I’ve always wanted you, danced ‘Eros’ for you, just you, you, _you_ —“

Victor makes a noise, but he doesn’t look away as his mouth latches onto Yuuri’s ear, biting hard and licking the curve of his lobe, and Yuuri screams as his cock empties so hard it spatters the sink and the bottom edge of the mirror. He pants and sags, but he braces. 

“Keep going,” he says, not recognizing his own voice. It’s a deep, guttural thing that escapes his diaphragm. “Keep going. Fill me up, Vitya. _Fill me up._ ”

“ _Der’mo_ ,” Victor groans. “ _Lapochka, moya lyubov’_ —“

" _Motto, boku o umeru, boku wa anata ni zokushite iru_ ,” Yuuri begs.

Victor’s hips jerk once, twice, thrice, and he spills into Yuuri causing him to let loose a small moan of his diminuitive. They’ve mostly maintained eye contact, Victor’s only closing for a moment when his orgasm hit, and he pants like he’s skated for an entire day nonstop. They look at each other, Victor’s eyes reminding Yuuri of a sea floor reflecting blue from the sun. 

“Do you?” Victor asks when he’s regained a bit of his composure.

“Do I what?” Yuuri replies. Victor’s hands under the skirt burn his skin, just like his kisses can and often do. 

“Belong to me,” Victor asks. “Or was that just a comment made in a heated moment?”

Yuuri watches his reflection swallow, his eyes go from glittering in the afterglow to nervous and more than a little sad. Yuuri begins to tremble softly, like the falling leaves of the current season.

Victor watches him, his own expression serious in spite of the silver fringe sweat-flattened against his face and the love in his gaze. 

“Simply, without problems or pride,” Yuuri manages by rote without dropping his gaze. “I’m yours.”

The moment hangs in the air, every second driving Yuuri closer to the emotional equivalent of Victor defenestrating him out a skyscraper. He’s grateful he didn’t manage the gloves as his palms go slick with sweat. 

Victor should say _me too_ , right? That’s how this should play out, isn’t it?

His hands leave Yuuri’s hips, and one wraps around his waist while the other pets the back of his neck. He maintains eye contact as he kisses Yuuri’s nape, then the side of his neck as best he can. Victor’s thumb rubs up and down between Yuuri’s shoulder blades, and he finally smiles.

“Deep inside,” Victor says, his lips wet as they move against Yuuri’s skin. “You’re deep inside of me.”

Yuuri’s lips twitch. “Well actually, you’re the—“ he begins cheekily when Victor makes an aggrieved noise. He doesn’t laugh like he would normally, and Yuuri realizes the joke was a mistake. He clears his throat. “We’re…deep inside each other,” he manages with so much humility he may as well drop into a _dogeza_.

Victor’s eyes illuminate with a happy spark for a second, but his mouth is still a straight line, and his jaw looks clamped tight. He’s somehow not enough this time, and Yuuri struggles for a bit while at a visible loss. What can he say that won’t be wrong? 

This is why he hates talking.

“You changed my life,” Yuuri tries after too long and stilted a silence. 

“You changed mine, or so it seemed,” Victor says. He pulls out finally then, and Yuuri drops his eyes, trying not to be seen anymore. 

There’s tears welling in them, and he cracks his knuckles, folding his hands in the messy skirt. He doesn’t understand what went wrong, but he hates it. Only love can hurt like this, he realizes, as if he ever doubted the depth of what he feels. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

In March, Yuuri was alright on his own. Then it snowed in April, covering the blooming sakura, and now—

Victor withdraws further, three steps back as he heads out of the bathroom, and Yuuri can’t make his throat work to beg him to stay. He’s losing something big, like maybe himself, like maybe Victor too, and it’s a lot like internal bleeding. 

He’s realized in the last year he was never alone before, not the way that matters, but then Victor appeared on his doorstep and…he’s not alright on his own anymore. He has to manage because he’s only got a little more time…

Yuuri looks at the open door, hears Victor moving around the bedroom. It’s silent otherwise, Makkachin not even adding to the ambient noise of their home. There’s a huge need in him that overpowers all of his other emotions, and he bolts into the bedroom.

Victor’s pulled his briefs back up while he examines the tuxedo pants for lube or come stains. His shoulders are stiff like he slept wrong, and his face is blank. Yuuri’s never seen Victor blank—he’s always civil, he’s always putting on some kind of smile even when unhappy or he doesn’t want to talk to a particular person.

Except JJ, Yuuri supposes and also—now except him. 

Yuuri tries to find something to say that won’t dig this chasm deeper. Victor pretends not to notice his presence. “Vitya…I just—“

“Hm,” Victor replies. It’s less than nothing.

Yuuri’s voice box shuts down. He grabs his phone, ignoring the smear of lube on it as he puts in his passcode with his other, not-dominant hand. He scrolls until he finds it in his Spotify, turns the volume up, and blares it.

_If your mirror won’t make it any clearer, I’ll be the one to let you know. Out of all of the girls, you my one and only girl, ain’t nobody in the world tonight…all of the stars, you make them shine like they were ours, ain’t nobody in the world but you and I, you and I, ain’t nobody in the world—_

Victor gives him his attention then, but it’s still off, like he wants to be moved but won’t let it show.

 _You keep wondering if you’re what I’m wanting—you don’t even have to try—_ Yuuri attempts to sing with John Legend, but it’s garbled like listening to music underwater. 

Victor doesn’t say anything so Yuuri drops the phone, the beat going on, and he grabs him into a kiss. It’s clumsy and the angle’s bad, but after a minute Victor responds. Yuuri’s grip is so tight, like Victor’s a ghost fading away but Victor’s hands hold as tightly, heartbeat to heartbeat, and Yuuri thinks again that maybe this is for the long haul. 

Victor changes the leg carrying his weight, but Yuuri’s not prepared and he loses his balance. They land in a heap on the floor by Victor’s side of the bed, and everything becomes this frantic rush of emotion that Yuuri can hardly track. 

Yuuri comes to for a moment, assuming Victor’s going to fuck him on the floor. Instead he stops kissing and holds him, face buried in the blue and yellow embroidered silk covering his shoulder. Yuuri’s fingers dig into his back. 

His birthday started amazing and is now a flaming crash. Yuuri closes his eyes and breathes. “You’re everything,” he whispers. “You’re everything.”

The tension in Victor’s spine lessens. He doesn’t move otherwise. “Are you certain?” he asks. 

Yuuri recalls a comment Phichit made once. _You better be sure because Victor is._

“Nothing in my life makes as much sense as you,” Yuuri says. “That feeling, when you do a quad and you’re weightless, fully confident you did it perfectly, the rotations fit, the landing will be one-footed, and you won’t fall…my heart does that every time I think of you, or touch you, you smile at me that one smile you have—”

Victor pulls back. He looks more himself, more zen and loving. The mask of nothing has evaporated, and Yuuri almost cries in relief. Victor runs his hand through Yuuri’s hair. He doesn’t speak this time, not even a simple “same” or “me too,” but he’s here, his eyes are shining, and for now it’s enough.

It’s enough, but again Yuuri thinks as they kiss that nothing can hurt like this…except love.

_——_

Yuuri, Makkachin, and Victor walk through town to the onsen without speaking. 

They’ve been…off since the not-fight, Yuuri notices. It wasn’t a fight, but he still has no idea what bothered Victor so badly. Once they regained their grips, they spent a lot of time out of each other’s way. Victor took a long bath outside while Yuuri answered birthday texts from friends (with a surprise salutation from Seung Gil of all people as well as fancy gif in his Instagram DMs from Mila) and read the Neruda book. He went for a run while Victor made lunch and listened to music, singing an old song by an artist played a lot in Detroit about how Makkachin is lovely.

Yuuri walked on the beach with their dog, Makka dragging around some driftwood for his enjoyment, and Victor stayed behind to clean the bathroom sink. Yuuri sat in the bedroom watching Gossip Girl until the drama between Chuck and Blair in Season Two hit too close to home. He loathes the thought that he has anything in common with Chuck because the dude looks like a Country Club reject and sounds like he’s taken too many quaaludes, but…well, if the shoe fits.

It’s going on four so they silently make themselves presentable, Victor shaving while Yuuri fixes his hair and rinses his mouth with the Floris Rose because he regretfully let Victor choose the mouthwash last time. Victor has on a sweater in that shade of burgundy that makes him glow, while Yuuri has unconsciously coordinated with a deep gray cardigan and black shirt underneath. 

Victor checks for cuts. Yuuri stares. “You look wonderful,” he says.

“Thank you,” Victor answers. He offers a subtle smile. “You as well.”

Yuuri debates protesting, but it would perhaps be unwise today. “Thanks.” 

They look at each other until Victor checks his watch. “We’ll be late,” he points out. “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He resets the position of his glasses, they grab jackets and Makkachin, and they go to the onsen. The walk isn’t terribly long, but Yuuri feels like it’s some kind of Herculean trial this time. He reaches for Victor’s hand four times without touching it.

They’re three inches apart, but he feels like there’s an ocean between them.

Yuuri looks at Victor. He stares straight ahead with a pleasant enough expression, though when he looks down at Makkachin, he smiles and whispers soft words to him. Then his focus is back on the road. Yuuri watches him, careful to make sure he won’t trip over anything, and they arrive at the onsen. 

Mari stands in front with a lit cigarette, favoring them with a brighter than usual smile. “Hey little bro, hey big bro-in-law,” she says as she stubs out the Seventh Star. 

Both Victor and Yuuri falter for a moment. “Mari!” Victor exclaims with his heart smile. He hugs her, and Mari hugs him with with a laugh.

“It’s only been three days,” she points out.

Victor shrugs. “I can miss you for three days.”

Mari shrugs before giving Yuuri a look. Yuuri forces cheer into his expression. “Yuuri, happy birthday!”

“Thank you,” Yuuri replies with a bow and a genuine smile. 

Mari puts an arm around him and she steers him into the building. Once they exchange their shoes for slippers, she steers Yuuri to the dining hall where poppers explode and confetti is thrown, covering his hair in JSF blue sparkles.

“Happy birthday!” his parents, the Nishigoris, and Minako shout.

Yuuri laughs—there’s a gaudy banner above the television on the wall surrounded by official JSF portraits, his UNIQLO and Mizuno ads, and blown up photos from magazine spreads, including the still from his final pose during his FS at the NHK trophy which landed him his spot last Grand Prix Final. 

_Number_ made it their cover image, though Yuuri never was able to actually read the article.

Makka barks and jumps towards the triplets, who shriek with joy as they pile around him. Makka loves them almost as much as he loves stealing food, and they run around with him for a bit, the old dog having a burst of puppyish energy. 

There’s a place of honor at a table meant for him, and there’s a huge spread down the length of the top. Sashimi appetizers fresh from the day’s catch, yakitori skewers, a variety of grilled fish, and his favorite fresh mochi from the best shop in town. 

“Vicchan helped us organize,” his mom says with a bright smile. Yuuri realizes for the first time that it’s his smile too as he looks at Victor standing a half a meter behind him. Victor has a complex look on his face that’s part pleasure and part unhappiness.

Yuuri’s smile falls before he regains his footing. “Vitya, _spasiba_.”

Victor gives him a small smile and a nod. Yuuri feels alone like he never has in a room that’s only missing one person among his most treasured. He turns back to his friends and family with the same smile he wore on the phone in a Sochi bathroom stall, walking and sitting on the floor. 

Yuu-chan is next to him, his dad on his other side, and she grins with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “How was the rest of your day?”

The innuendo is clear in her tone, and Yuuri turns red. “Yuu-chan,” he grumbles with a jerk of his head to his folks. They aren’t listening—Victor sits at the opposite end from him, and the two of them talk his ears off about the public viewing party they’re having for the Final. Victor laughs, looking better than he has since the bathroom incident. 

Yuuri breathes away the pain. 

Yuu-chan doesn’t care. She sips her sake, eyebrows waggling above the cup, and her husband snorts. “Statistically, I guess someone had to,” he says.

“Had to what?” Yuuri wonders as he takes a sip of a Sapporo. Victor normally prefers he not have beer because of the carbs, but it’s his birthday. He can do what he wants. 

“Had to find you sexy,” Takeshi finishes. Yuu-chan hits him across the chest. “I’m just saying—“

Yuuri can’t help but laugh. Sometimes things don’t change, and that’s for the better. He looks at Victor sharing shochu with Minako, and he thinks things can also change and be better for it, too. 

Most of the time.

The triplets and Makka roam by like tumbleweeds in a strong wind, something about Makka being the first Ice Skating Dog World Champion and the girls are his coaches, and Yuuri thinks maybe one day he could have kids and another dog playing like this. Blue eyed, dark haired kids with high cheekbones and a soft, warm smile, maybe one of them needing glasses, maybe they all do the poor dears—

Everyone eats and laughs around him, but he sips his beer with eyes aimed at the foam, and Victor grows serious when he thinks no one sees.

Yuuri does, though.

There’s something called a St. Sebastian cake with a scary amount of candles causing Yuuri to fret his family will lose their livelihood, but he blows them out on the first try. 

“Did you make a wish?” Minako shouts. She’s a bit gone having been drinking since an hour before their arrival. Ah, he loves her so.

Yuuri thinks of a similar party in ten years, but with Victor close and both of them full of real joy. He smiles, watery and thin. “Yeah.”

No one asks him for what, thankfully. He’s not in the mood to try to lie, so he instead grabs his dishes and some of the empty platters on the table, hurrying them to the kitchen for washing. It’s suffocating and surreal out with the party, but he can’t actually leave so he fills a basin with water, takes off the cardigan leaving him in short sleeves, and he starts to work.

“You should leave those for us,” his mother says.

“I haven’t carried my weight since I got back in the Spring,” Yuuri says with fragile cheer. “I shouldn’t slack just because of the Grand Prix Final. I’m happy to do it!”

His mom brings more dirty plates and sits them next to his pile. She grabs a towel and dries the ones he cleans. The silence reminds him of when he got old enough to be put to work, the feeling of adulthood and responsibility making him happy in those days. 

Yuuri exhales. “Has business been okay while we’ve been staying at the rental?”

“Yes! It’s been better than the last few years.” She sets a tray in the rack. “It’s in no small part due to you and Vicchan, but I think perhaps things may have evened out for Hasetsu finally.”

“Good,” Yuuri says. He means it. The silence descends a second time, and Yuuri scrubs a stubborn bit of food off the fish platter.

“You know, I figured it out before you told us,” his mom says.

Yuuri freezes. He doesn’t speak, but he resumes washing the plate and hopes that if there is a higher power they hear his plea she didn’t accidentally eavesdrop on them having sex like Mari apparently did.

“Mothers know,” she elaborates. “You’ve always done more to get his attention than anyone else. I long suspected the hero-worship could turn another way, and from the words he spoke of you when he arrived—“

Yuuri pushes his glasses up with an elbow before looking at her. She meets his eyes and gives him a fond smile, but it’s a serious one too. 

“You always have been very protective of your heart,” she continues. “You have two hearts to protect now, Yuuri. Be extra careful for both your sakes.”

Twice in a few weeks, someone has made a subtle remark about Yuuri hurting Victor. Yuuri recalls the bathroom moment that ruined everything…when he went to make a dirty joke in relation to Victor’s heartfelt remark. The guilt almost crushes him, as he apologized but he didn’t fully grasp why. Now he knows, and he understands Victor’s brittleness. “I’ll do my best,” he answers. “I’ll try as hard as I can.”

Mom smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and Yuuri loves her more than he ever has. He wipes the water and suds off his hands hastily using his jeans as a towel, startling her with a giant hug. It’s not that he never hugs her, but she usually initiates it if she can read in his face it would be welcome. She hugs him back, her soft motherly smell of oil and a baby powder-like aroma that’s just her that causes to Yuuri hold her that much tighter.

They finish the dishes and go back to the group. The triplets and Makkachin are in a heap watching highlights from this year’s NHK Trophy. Minako and his Dad are soused, but fortunately Dad’s shirt is still on this time. The singing and can-can line is offbeat and off-key though. Nobody’s perfect, but Yuuri can’t help smiling anyways.

Mari, Victor, and the adult Nishigoris chat together. When he listens closer, he realizes two things: Mari is pumping Victor for how to pack to go to Spain, and she is doing so in Japanese instead of English. Victor keeps up extremely well, only having to pause slightly here or there to reply. He hardly ever asks for a repeat of a phrase or word, either. 

Victor is so smart and so good. He’s better than Yuuri deserves. He swallows, not joining the adults to sit with the triplets. He pets an almost-dozing Makkchin’s exposed tummy as the girls give color commentary. They already know so much about the sport, it’s incredible. 

Makka drapes across Yuuri’s knees to slumber, the beautiful old boy. “Yuuri-kun!” Lutz says, bringing Yuuri out of his daydream. 

“Hm? Yeah?” Yuuri says.

“What’s JJ like?” Axel says. 

“Yeah! The King JJ Program is so cool!” Loop shouts as she does the JJ Style gesture in her chubby child hands.

Yuuri softens. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he admits. “He’s…interesting to be around, that’s for sure. It’s not dull when he’s near.”

The girls ooh and ahh, then they ask about Seung Gil. Yuuri has kinder things to say about him, which is a relief. He answers their queries until their parents corral them into going home citing bed time. Yuu-chan hugs him and Takeshi shakes his hand, and the five of them head home. 

Yuuri sits with the dog still snoring on him, though he hears Victor clear his throat. “We should head home as well, _lapochka,_ ” he says. “Early practice in the morning.”

His face is a mixture of things, but his eyes are still dull, and Yuuri can only nod in reply. He nudges a grumbling Makkachin, and they say goodbye to his family. Victor kisses his mother and sister, hugs his drunk dad and pseudo-aunt, and Yuuri tells everyone goodbye with hugs as well. 

The walk back is like the one to the onsen, silent and somewhat distant between them, and when Victor unlocks the door, Yuuri says, “If you want, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Victor pauses while taking off his coat. He gives Yuuri a strange look. “If that will make you happy,” he answers.

“It won’t,” Yuuri says. “Nothing will right now. Not while you’re so unhappy.”

Victor’s face is nothing more than blatant, utter confusion. “What?”

“I can’t be happy if you’re not,” Yuuri says. “Seeing you unhappy is the worst. I hate it, especially since I’m at fault. I love you too much to be the reason why you’re sad, so I’m just offering you space.” He averts his gaze. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Something heavy crashes to the ground, and Yuuri realizes Victor’s somehow knocked over their coatrack. He stares at the shock on his face, especially because in spite of Makkachin’s startled protests in the forms of shrill barking, he hasn't even noticed he did that.

“Vitya—“ Yuuri says as he rushes towards him. His coat’s in one hand still, Victor’s other hand against the wall like he’s off-balance, and Yuuri picks up the coatrack before putting their other jackets back on it. “Vitya, are you okay?”

“What did you say?” Victor asks. He looks like he thinks he needs hearing aids or the world’s ending or both.

Yuuri stands about half a foot from him. His default reaction is to flee, to make a joke or denial like he always does to deflect and downplay. This time, he humbles himself and steels his nerves. “I love you, and if you’re not happy, I’m not. I was offering you time to yourself tonight because I seem to…I can’t fix things today.” 

Makkachin winds down, huffing and fleeing to the living room. Victor is stock-still, but finally his expression begins to regain some of its luster. 

“I know I messed up,” Yuuri says. “We were having this kind of moment, right? And I decided to make a stupid sex joke, and you were trying to be soft and adorable…I must have seemed dismissive or even flippant. And I wasn’t intending that, I just—make comments sometimes when I don’t know what else to say,” Yuuri rambles. He feels like this street corner pastor he had to walk by in Detroit sometimes who was convinced frozen dinners were the downfall of society, or at least he has the same level of both rationality and elegance in his speech. “But I love you, and I hate making you feel like garbage. So I’m sorry, and I’ll sleep elsewhere if you want me to, or I’ll—I don’t even know!”

Yuuri hates everything except Victor in this moment, which works out well because Victor reaches out and presses their foreheads together. He’s happy, he’s _happy_ again like he should always be, and Yuuri’s eyes well up from relief. “I love you too,” Victor says, his voice breaking on every vowel. “Don’t sleep alone. Thank you for the apology, and I love you so much.”

It’s like a two-ton weight falls off Yuuri’s back. Everything is right again, everything makes sense. 

“You are what makes me happiest, _lapochka_ ,” Victor continues. “Please never think otherwise, regardless of if we have a bad day. A sad day with you is leagues better than any day without. Any day no matter what.”

“Really?” Yuuri asks.

“Really,” Victor assures him. “I’m much happier with you in Hasetsu than I ever was in St.Petersburg. It’ll always be true that wherever I am, if you’re there too—I’ll no doubt be happier than I was.”

Yuuri caresses his face before rising onto his toes to kiss him. They’re each other’s happy person, each other’s home, he realizes. Maybe it’s okay when he has his Swan Song in Barcelona as a competitive skater for him to ask Victor to stay. 

It sounds like Victor will say yes. It feels like Yuuri’s getting his wish.

He’ll ask. When the dust settles, the medals swing from people’s necks, and the lucky three stand at varying heights while photoflashes threaten to damage their eyes…he’ll ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised it would happen here, and it did. <3
> 
> Also! [Adwen drew the delightful Sailor Moon bathroom scene](http://adwendoodles.tumblr.com/post/166688324738/more-doodles-from-chapter-12). (NSFW of course!)


	13. Barcelona 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate lead up to the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't call it a comeback, I've been here for years. Also, I am told I am rude for this. *eyes spookyfoot, her beta*
> 
> Happy 1 Year of Breaking the Internet, Yuri!!! On Ice! Happy late birthday, Katsuki Yuuri! Happy almost birthday, Victor Nikiforov! Happy happy joy joy!
> 
> The movie on the plane is Star Trek Beyond, and "beats and shouting" is Jaylah's explanation for her preferred genre of music: gangsta rap. To understand the swarming ship thing, you kind of have to see them move, and yes the day is saved using a Beastie Boys track. What can I say, someone who wrote it likes Macross (probably)?
> 
> There has been for a while, but I'm plugging it here---[a spotify playlist of the music related to or used in this story.](https://open.spotify.com/user/12168581471/playlist/6BbTZWJiIpOsFYYPuMbw2o) If you use Spotify, follow it please! I add new tracks as I write! Also there are mood boards for every chapter, if you haven't revisted previous ones in a while! (I may go back and have a do-over with a few, I'm better at it now.)
> 
> You asked for live in your face Phichimetti, well here you are. Hope it lives up to the hype.
> 
> Hey now I can add Otabek to the tags! Brotabek. Otabae. Etc.
> 
> Uh I am starving and need pasta like STAT so if I left something out of these, I'll come back to it later. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/24386104747/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 

Fukuoka Airport is a surrealist liminal space pre-dawn. It no longer phases Yuuri, and even though Victor’s only had it as his home airport for eight months, it’s old hat to depart one country before sunrise and end up across the world by supper.

The Korean Air ticketing agent checks their reservations while Victor smiles at her and Yuuri drums his fingers on the counter. “We do have two seats together in first class if you’d care to upgrade, Mister Nikiforov,” she says. “You have more than enough miles to cover the difference.”

Victor opens his mouth, but Yuuri beats him to the punch. “That sounds wonderful, thank you,” he says with a slight bow and a smile.

Victor gives Yuuri a look before his own face brightens. “Yes, we’ll take the upgrade. Thank you.”

She smiles and changes their manifests, tags their luggage, and sends it on its way down the carousel. Victor packed a lot even by his standards since they leave Barcelona directly for Malé. Plus with Yuuri’s costumes and equipment, as well as their formal attire for the banquet, they have a lot of bags between them.

After they finish, they go to the first class lounge. Yuuri still feels a bit odd about the luxury but not like a total faker the way he did at Sheremetyevo.

“I admit I’m surprised,” Victor says from their table by a large window overlooking the gradually-lightening sky. “After the annoyance you displayed from my gift last time.”

Their server greets them, and Yuuri orders them two glasses of the champagne and a pot of the matcha blend. When she departs, he takes off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. Victor grumbles at this before handing him a microfiber cloth and a tiny bottle of cleaning solution security must not have noticed.

Yuuri has no idea at what point Victor began carrying them. It has to have been months. He lightly mists the lenses and wipes them with the cloth. After putting them back on, he pauses before flashing Victor a hesitant smile. “I want to fly first class with you,” he admits in a low voice. “It was nice when I came home from Moscow, but I know I’ll enjoy it more with you. And I know you prefer it, so…” Yuuri shrugs one shoulder. 

Victor is visibly touched. “Yuuri—“ The server brings two glasses of pink champagne, Yuuri letting Victor take the first sip since he’s the one of them that actually knows wine. “Oh,” he says with bright eyes. “Is this the 2002?”

“Yes, Mister Nikiforov,” she answers.

“Thank you, it’s perfect,” Victor replies, and Yuuri takes a sip of his own flute. It’s lighter and more floral than plain champagne. He decides likes it. “I normally prefer rosè when it’s warmer out,” Victor tells him. “But may as well! We’ll toast to your impending gold!”

Yuuri taps his glass to Victor’s with a soft clink, the soft smile he wears a small reflection of how happy this moment makes him.

They eat breakfast and talk about nothing of import. It’s the best airport experience Yuuri’s ever had, and when they’re gathered for their boarding call they sit in their comfy two-person row with all the legroom ever. Victor orders them more rosè. They get blankets and hold hands as they take off towards Seoul. It isn’t a long leg, and they have enough time in the lounge for Victor to mist and moisturize his face, which is followed by that decadent chocolate dessert Yuuri had last time. He was right, Victor adores it—his eyes are so bright and greedy after the first bite, Yuuri gives him almost all of it.

The plane from Seoul to Spain is larger than the one he’d taken from Sheremetyevo, and the first class rows are roomier as a result. Yuuri starts to peruse the entertainment options, and Victor leans against him as much as is allowed until cruising altitude. Yuuri smiles as he picks out a film to watch.

When the seatbelt sign turns off, Victor gets even closer. Every time they fly together, Victor ends up half in Yuuri’s lap with a blanket over both of them. Yuuri gives Victor a fond sideways glance. He wears the blue and white shirt he pilfered when Victor left Rostelecom, and its neck is wider on him due to their size difference, almost sliding down his shoulder. This means Victor has easy neck access. 

Victor sighs with his lips drifting over his skin, and Yuuri feels his face warm. Victor is sleepy and soft, his eyes half closed and his arms around Yuuri like he’s Makkachin. His hands are caught in the hem of the shirt, half in blue-striped fabric and half against Yuuri’s bare skin. 

Yuuri looks over his head to the row across the aisle—it’s actually empty, which would explain how they managed a last minute upgrade on an international flight. After doing some cursory reconnaissance, Yuuri realizes no one else pays them any mind. He settles in; it’s the start of his journey to gold, and he’s just had an idea that’ll be really something if it manages to work and not get them thrown off the plane or arrested or disgraced and…why does he want to do this?

The first class attendant comes down the aisle asking for everyone’s drink preferences. The whole menu is complimentary, so Victor gets another glass of champagne and Yuuri gets a diet Coke. Victor’s hands dip towards Yuuri’s waistband. He breathes a contented, loving sigh into Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri bites his bottom lip and thanks the flight attendant for the drink.

Since the flight is so long, the meal service isn’t until later—they’ll be left alone for a quite some time. 

Yuuri’s hands are under the blanket too, and he slides one in between Victor’s legs, keeping his eyes on their screen as he undoes the belt buckle. A nagging thought of repeating a mistake from a year ago tries to surface as he pushes it down thanks to his focus of the pressure he uses to stroke Victor through his slacks.

Victor’s eyes go wide. “Lapochka,” he says, equally scandalized and excited.

“Sh,” Yuuri replies as he undoes his fly. Victor returns the favor, the two of them half hard already. “Jaylah’s a cool character right?”

“She likes the beats and shouting,” Victor replies, a little strangled but earnest. 

Yuuri palms Victor through his briefs, and Victor serves a returning volley. “Yes, the beats and shouting.” He seizes the moment, freeing Victor’s cock so he can touch it without any barrier. “Though right now, probably no shouting hm?”

Victor’s face is now completely buried in his neck, but his hand doesn’t leave its home in Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri has to wonder what the hell’s happened to him in eight months that he thinks like this now—these flying leaps of impulsiveness, somehow habitual in a short time, that result in putting a Quad Flip at the end of a free skate, blurting out “have sex with me” right before dinner one June evening, giving Victor a hand job on a plane, and everything in between.

Victor makes him lose rationality, Yuuri decides as he stealthily licks his hand and puts his back into his current task, so to speak. He can’t think about what is intelligent and sensible—his brain gets trapped next to his heart under his ribs, and it’s like all he can see or make sense of is Victor. It’s hard to admit, even to himself, that he actively wants things; he’s never successfully managed admitting he wants to win as opposed to leaving it at disliking losing, as one example.

The reality is, he now wants Grand Prix Final gold and Victor Nikiforov so badly he can taste them. Granted he tastes Victor multiple times per day in the literal sense, but having Victor for _now_ versus _always_ are different breeds of the same animal. If reincarnation is real, if soulmates exist, he’ll have Victor every day in the next life too. And the one after and after that, ad infinitum. 

The possibility of being caught, the necessity of not making noise or being obvious heightens their pleasure, and neither of them last. Victor bites into Yuuri’s shoulder as he ascends to completion and Yuuri makes a show of loudly clearing his throat when he comes moments after. The blanket is a gross mess, and Yuuri realizes when the endorphins slow that maybe he should have considered that first. 

Also they missed the part with “Sabotage” killing the swarm ships, and Yuuri’s a bit annoyed because that’s a cool visual. Victor kisses a spot on the underside of Yuuri’s jaw, and Yuuri smiles, deciding they can deal with the blanket when they land. He kisses Victor’s temple, and by the time Captain Kirk’s surprise party is unveiled, Victor’s dozed off with obvious contentment in his face.

Yuuri snaps a photo for the Vitya folder on his phone, settles in closer, and as the opening credits roll of _Kimi no Na wa_ , he too falls asleep.

_——-_

Dealing with customs and Immigration upon their arrival is, at best, irritating as hell. The airport is so crowded it borders on insanity, and once they finally make it through with using their limited Spanish, the taxi line is even worse. They finally check into the hotel, and Yuuri has fallen sick from a travel path across many, many time zones. He thinks it’s afternoon the day before they left. 

Right? 

Maybe. 

It might be today now. 

Time is meaningless, Yuuri decides.

He’s swaying and just a little dizzy as Victor unlocks the door, so he barely notices anything before collapsing onto a bed. Victor’s expression is that of slight consternation as Yuuri kicks off his Mizuno sneakers. “I booked a king for us,” Victor manages with audible annoyance. “There’s two beds.”

Yuuri blearily looks with his glasses askew. The beds are maybe seven centimeters apart— about his and Victor’s height difference. Yuuri’s groans are loud and scratchy, and he collapses back into a heap, quickly transforming into the Yuurito. He manages some kind of commentary in Japanese, Russian, or maybe Xhosa. 

“Are you that tired?” Victor wheels their luggage to the foot of the bed.

“I’m dying,” Yuuri replies. “I will sleep for all eternity now. If you move rooms, have the bellhops carry me like I’m on a dais.”

Laughing, Victor unzips Yuuri’s bag and brings him a pair of green sleep pants and a long sleeved shirt. “Change first.” 

Yuuri folds his glasses next to his pillows and phone. He changes, balling up the travel outfit on the floor before climbing back under the covers and closing his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Jet lag is unpleasant,” Victor says. He smooths Yuuri’s hair a few times before kissing the crown of his head. “I’ll entertain myself and check up on you. Get some rest, my Aurora.”

Yuuri doesn’t answer—he’s already gone. His sleep is soothing and dreamless with occasional echoes of Victor’s voice. When he surfaces, it’s well after dark. The window with its undrawn curtains exposes the glittering city. Yuuri shakes the dust from his brain and wipes the cobwebs from his eyes before he puts on his glasses and checks his phone.

Missed calls from Minako, his mother, Yuu-chan, and three from Phichit. 

Shit.

 _Shit_. He forgot. Yuuri unlocks his phone and sends a quick text to him. _Hey I’m sorry, I died from jet lag. Are you free?_ He doesn’t get a reply so he opens his Instagram feed. Mila (who qualified along with Sara) posted pictures of Yurio angrily posed with his Angels, JJ and his girlfriend are next with a selfie using the dog Snapchat filter and—

On the third finger of her left hand is a modest square-cut diamond centered with smaller pave diamonds encircling it in a band of white gold. The gems glow from the camera flash brighter than any sequin-studded costume.

JJ and Isabella are getting married. 

Yuuri stares at it too long before he resumes scrolling. There’s Phichit at Sagrada Familia making a V sign with a brilliant smile. Yuuri can’t help but grin himself as he’s happy Phichit got his all-important selfie. He likes it and moves on to a post of Chris and Victor, shirtless in their trunks on the pool's edge, sunglasses on in the darkness, right legs kicked high in the air like they’re the featured acts of an aquatic cabaret.

Yuuri likes the photo but something hurts deep in his soul. He drops the phone to the mattress with a dull thud as the tiny thought that threatened to shake him on the flight floods him full steam ahead. 

It’s not that Victor shouldn’t have a life outside of him—the opposite is necessary for his sanity and health—but the Final bears down like a boulder rapidly gaining speed. Yuuri is determined to win, but he’s very aware he could lose. His brain cycles back to last year when he gave an amazing short program resulting in only a four point deficit between him and his life long idol, the Living Legend of Figure Skating. Then the next day he widened the gap with such a spectacular crash and burn that resulted in him firing Celestino and competing at All-Japan alone.

Where he crashed further, destroying his season entirely.

Three months to regroup and decide to continue. Idle time to the extent he learned Victor’s free program and perfected it to chase the monsters of self-doubt from his mind. He flops onto his belly and sighs. “Vitya, I need you,” he mumbles wetly into the hotel sheets.

A pair of voices speak unintelligible words at far too high a volume draw near right before the door slams open. “Yuuri!” Victor cries through chattering teeth. “Can you draw me a bath? I’m freezing to death.”

“Could you make a pot of coffee too?” asks Chris, clad in a tiny satin purple robe and slippers. His chest is bare underneath, the faint hair there the same shade as the close-cropped part of his hairstyle. “I come from the land of skiing and bobsleds, but this is a bridge too far.”

Yuuri sits on his haunches and stares. He doesn’t know what to say.

Victor and Chris eye each other with obvious, escalating mischief. Then they leap towards him, Chris blowing a kiss with a wink and Victor’s eyes closed with his mouth forming a giant heart. 

Yuuri is far, far too slow.

“Oh my god what no—“ he manages as they land with one on each side to hold him between in the middle like a prize to fight over. “No! No you are freezing! Stop! Stooooopppp!” Victor nuzzles him, Chris’s arms circle his waist, and Yuuri lowers his voice with the resignation of a man on death row. “You’re rotten. Both of you.”

“Ah, Yuuri,” Chris says in his ear. There’s a faint smell of champagne mixed with chlorine as his voice rumbles through Yuuri’s back. “Forgive us, _cher_. I was excited to see you, and Vitya suggested I say hello in case you’d woken.”

The shock’s worn off and Yuuri can’t figure out how to adjust his posture. He settles for his one arm around Victor’s neck and his other across Chris’s lower back. He’s facing Victor, though, and…well. He doesn’t hate this. “You should have texted me,” he chides, though it’s half-hearted. He is happy to see Chris since he’s Victor’s closest friend. This also means Phichit probably isn’t far behind. 

Victor’s smile makes the remaining irritation leave Yuuri instantly—he’s always so weak for those puppy eyes. “It was an oversight. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. He cranes his neck as much as possible to look at Chris. “Where’s Phichit?”

Chris hums as he rests his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “ _Ma peche_ said he was beholden to Celestino this evening, though perhaps he’s free now.” He removes one hand from Yuuri and opens his phone, the background a professional photo of him in the silver medalist spot next to Victor with gold draped around his collarbone from last season’s Worlds. 

“What’s a _peche_?” Yuuri wonders.

“It’s French for peach,” Victor supplies.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow and watches Chris text his best friend with open interest. “Hm.”

Within a minute, someone knocks on their door. Chris gets off the bed and when it opens, Yuuri hears Phichit’s excitable rambling with a quick “Hi Victor-and-Yuuri-who-no-longer-get-their-own-separate-names!”

Victor’s smile gets bigger. Yuuri isn’t sure how he feels about being treated like he’s no longer an individual, but there are worse things considering the jubilation in Victor’s face. Their friends briefly fall silent and then exchange some quick words Yuuri can’t parse. This goes on for a while, Yuuri trying to listen with his head titled like a dog and Victor pretending he’s above spying and failing miserably. Chris pokes his head back to Victor and Yuuri. “Ah, Phichit and I are—“

“It’s fine,” Victor says with a laugh and a wave. “Have a good time, but practice is at eight sharp.”

A Jason Derulo song plays, and Yuuri rolls his eyes because only one of their quartet has that schtick.

_Been around the world, don't speak their language…but your booty don't need explaining! All I really need to understand is when you—you talk dirty to me!_

“Phichit, for God’s sake—“

Victor’s face is priceless while Chris and Phichit laugh as they exit, the door closing hard behind them. Yuuri rubs his temples while Victor shakes his head. “I think, perhaps, Chris may have met his match.”

“He’s in over his head,” Yuuri replies. Victor laughs into Yuuri’s ear and holds him tighter. Yuuri can’t help but close his eyes and smile, tilting his head up so Victor has easier nuzzling access. It turns into tickling very quickly, and Victor refuses to let go upon his squirming. Yuuri laughs. “Stop!” Victor doubles down, Yuuri laughs harder, and they end up in a tickle-fight on the bed tangled in Yuuri’s nest. He’s on his back pressed flat into the duvet, his glasses askew while tears leak from the corners of his eyes. When he calms down, Victor gazes at him with such reverence things are a lot less funny. “C’mere,” Yuuri whispers. 

Victor obliges, giving him a long, soft kiss. Yuuri grabs his shoulders and wraps a leg around his hips to draw him further, making his intentions clear. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Yuuri breathes as he kisses him again. Then he rolls so Victor lies on his back below him, Yuuri putting his glasses to the side and pulling off his shirt. Victor looks at him with that same complete adoration, and Yuuri takes two fingers and strokes down his lips. “Can I ride you? I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Victor’s face twists. “I’m not going to say no,” he answers in a bewildered (yet grateful) tone.

Yuuri bends and kisses him, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, and as things progress to neither of them feeling anything but each other, Yuuri has only one thought that repeats as his hips roll just so and Victor’s hands rove over his thighs at the same protracted pace. He was sent here for Victor, or maybe Victor was sent for him, the two of them made to love as well as last.

_—-_

Practice is early. 

The six of them do their own things: Chris wipes down his new blades, which are the same brand and style he’s used since his final season in Juniors. Phichit chatters excitedly with Celestino and takes his traditional pre-skating selfie, a superstition begun with his first iPhone. Otabek looks serious (which Yuuri feels like maybe that’s his default face) as his coach offers tips and advice for practice this morning. JJ boasts to his parents, but he also takes a moment that Yuuri is suprised to realize is a prayer as he crosses himself when he finishes. 

Yakov and Madam Baranovskaya give Yuri instructions, but in typical fashion he cannot be bothered to care.

Before they take the ice, Celestino goes out of his way to shake both Yuuri and Victor’s hands, exchanging pleasantries and pats on the shoulder. They return the favor with equal enthusiasm, and for the first time in a year Yuuri feels fully comfortable with him.

As always, Victor is Yuuri’s anchor when he removes his skate guards. He opens by doing his figures while watching the others. Yuri plots JJ’s murder while a seemingly oblivious JJ interacts with Isabella and his folks. On the other end of the rink, Chris and Phichit engage in foreplay disguised as skating; the two of them chat as they draw teasing circles around each other like orbiting stars. Phichit winks and grins, Chris gives him bedroom eyes, and Yuuri has to bite back a laugh.

Of course, there is finally Otabek.

Their five year age difference means that Yuuri doesn’t know him terribly well. He’s aware he was an upset at the last Worlds for Bronze, that he’s considered a hero in his home country of Kazakhstan, and that assuming his fanbase’s offerings are legitimate he likes bears and Harleys. Phichit and Leo have mentioned he DJs and has put out a few mixtapes, but that’s all he really knows.

Otabek does figures like Yuuri always does. His focus is almost complete, though he keeps throwing glances to Yuri as he works. They’re furtive and subtle, but Yuuri recognizes that expression from his own face last year in Sochi from being on the same ice as Victor. 

Maybe Otabek and Yuri can become friends. It’d do Yuri good, at least.

The practice today is somewhere between friendly and tense. Chris and Phichit treat him well and each other better much to Celestino’s exasperation and Josef’s amusement. Otabek is self-possessed, not really noticing anything or anyone outside of Yuri. JJ is…JJ, but there’s that tightness around his eyes when he smiles Yuuri saw in Russia. 

Yuri skates by as he works on his step sequences. “Ready to die, Katsudon?” he calls on his way to the other side of the rink.

“I dunno, are you?” Yuuri retorts without even thinking about it. He winces and feels his cheeks turn red. 

Yuri stops and stares at him. Behind the boards and if Yuuri squints, he can see Yakov and Victor looking amused at their interplay. Yuri glares at him before making a face like a disgusted cat before skating away.

Yuuri doesn’t miss it turn into a smile, though.

The officials call time and everyone gets off the ice, with Chris and JJ the last ones to exit before Yuuri. He puts his hand on Victor to steady himself as slips on his skate guards. “Tomorrow’s the big day,” Victor says. “I think we should go back to the hotel and relax. We’ll call it an early night so you have plenty of rest for the short program.”

Yuuri pauses. It’s counter to Victor’s normal plans when they compete, and frankly Yuuri cannot think of anything he wants less than to hole up away from the world. They did that enough in the rented house leading up to this. He’s claustrophobic and suffocating.

Besides, Barcelona is beautiful and romantic. Who knows when they’ll be here again?

“Don’t suddenly pull this ‘model coach act’,” Yuuri scolds, though it’s meant to be playful. “I’ve never been here before! And I’m with you! I want to go sightseeing, so take me out today!”

Victor stares at Yuuri as if he isn’t sure he’s serious. Yuuri responds with a wink, and Victor’s face immediately flushes. “As you wish, _lapochka_.”

Yuuri grabs his arm, his free hand wrapping around the buttery leather of Victor’s burgundy glove. Their fingers lace together and Victor leads him to the locker room. He showers and changes into a cream colored sweater, jeans, and a pair of gray boots before putting on his blue coat and a scarf the same shade as Victor’s gloves. 

They run all over the city at first: posing together at Sagrada Familia, exploring open-air markets and bustling town squares, enjoying an incredibly delicious made-to-order seafood paella with saffron rice...and then—

They stand at Passeig de Gràcia, a shopping district full of high-end boutiques and ateliers. Chanel, Prada, Versace, Hermès—they’re all accounted for like the storied Left Bank in Paris. Victor’s eyes practically glow, and Yuuri watches with obvious joy. He wants to give Victor this, he decides when he realizes he’s waiting on Yuuri. He wants to give Victor things like Victor gives and gives him every day without so much as a request. “Do you want to start in Hermès or Chanel?” Yuuri asks. 

Victor gives him a look before glancing back to the shops. “Well you said—“

“Vitya.” Yuuri strokes his cheek with his bare hand. “Chanel or Hermès?”

If Yuuri didn’t know better, he’d think Victor fell more in love than a moment ago. “Hermès,” Victor answers, resolute. “I want to buy you a necktie or two.” Yuuri blinks and makes a confused gesture with his hand. “That hideous tie you wore on television,” Victor says as clarification.

“What’s wrong with my tie?” Yuuri replies, more than mildly offended.

“Come,” Victor dictates as he takes Yuuri’s hand and pulls him into the store with a pointed refusal to answer. 

The shopgirl greets them enthusiastically in English, and she brings Victor a selection of posh neckties. He picks an ice blue and purple patterned one after holding it against Yuuri’s skin, then another in black, bright pink and lime green. It’s a bit out of Yuuri’s normal wheelhouse, but Victor insists. 

He grabs a matching pink pocket square for the one and a lavender-blue one for the other. 

Yuuri thinks they’re finished.

Yuuri thinks they are finished because he is a fool.

Victor files through the men’s ready-to-wear dress shirts. “The Italian collar, I think,” he says with a glance at Yuuri. Yuuri doesn’t know the difference to offer any input in either direction. He chooses a soft rose color to go with the black and pink tie first, then the white for the blue and purple one. Satisfied, Victor pays and the shopgirl wraps his packages, no doubt smiling due to both Victor’s charm and a healthy commission. Victor beams at Yuuri. “Next,” he says with a warm smile, and they enter Versace.

Yuuri has no time to think, protest, or even express gratitude before Victor’s bought him two suits with alterations. They’ll be sent to the hotel concierge for the banquet Victor announces, so Yuuri can look every inch the gold medalist he’s sure to be. 

Victor blows through store after store—he picks and sorts, purchases, smiles, and drags Yuuri to his next territory. They pause in a confectioners for decadent treats to feed each other in bed later. (“Do we really need three varieties of spiced nuts?” “Hm, let’s get the full set!” “Vitya, no,” Yuuri meekly protests until the excitement in his eyes makes him concede.) 

Yuuri is praised for his stamina on the ice but he’s not sure that’s legitimate since Victor won’t stop and he’s…so tired.

Laden with bags, Yuuri finally says, “Vitya? Can I sit?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer—he just does while Victor twirls. “Ahhhhh I haven’t been properly shopping in far too long! Though I wish the Euro was weaker—“

A trademarked shade of mint blue signage catches Yuuri’s notice. Victor continues to talk, but Yuuri hears nary a word as he stares at the engagement ring display front and center in Tiffany’s holiday windows. He can see a matching pair of wedding rings in bright yellow gold among a sea of platinum and silver. He almost gets up, almost asks to go inside. “Yuuri—“ Victor intrudes before he can act. “Let’s get you more ties!”

Yuuri’s head snaps to Victor. “What? You bought me two already!”

“Hm, you should have more options,” Victor says. His index finger presses to his lips, and then he grabs Yuuri’s wrist. “Come!”

Yuuri barely manages to grab their bags as they go into yet another shop. After hours spent kitting them out, the sun sets, and Yuuri looks counts the bags in each hand. There’s one missing, he realizes with a start. He cycles through the logos, immediately knowing which one got left behind. “Vitya,” he begins. “I lost the nuts.”

“Hm?” Victor seems like he can’t be bothered.

“The nuts we bought for later,” Yuuri says. “They’re gone—I need to go back to the bench.”

“Yuuri—“

Yuuri doesn’t hear the rest in his blind panic. They spent almost seventy Euro on snacks...he can’t just have left them behind, right? He’s so stupid! It’s so wasteful and careless—

The bench is empty. Yuuri swallows and looks under it, on the sides, in front of it, in back, under again…

“Yuuri—“ Victor says. His voice is meant to placate, and Yuuri's anxiousness boils into annoyance. “Calm down. Think where you last had them.”

“It was here! I just—“ Yuuri swallows. “I’ll go back to the shop! I’ll buy more if I can—“

“The shop closed at six,” Victor explains with the patience of a saint. Yuuri loves him more than his own life, but he loathes him for this. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. Let’s go back to the hotel and decompress. Aren’t you tired?”

“No!” Yuuri says. Why is he doing this? It’s like he’s a child to Victor’s long-suffering babysitter. He considers throwing the Versace bag in his face. “I’m not tired. I just want to find them!”

“I’m tired, though,” Victor says. His tone is utterly reasonable. His face is kind and confused. Yuuri is ruining their day, the wonderful day he spent with him doing things he loves doing like shopping, sightseeing, eating local delicacies— “Come on, let’s get dinner and relax. It’s okay. It’s just candy.”

“Just candy? We spent over sixty Euro on them!” Yuuri bites back. “You really don’t care about throwing away that kind of money?” He swallows, remembers the prices on the ties and clothing. “Of course you don’t.”

“I don’t care about something that’s ultimately trivial ruining this beautiful day with the love of my life,” Victor says. “We had a good time, we enjoyed ourselves, and now something that isn’t really a big deal has upset you to this point. When you become unhappy, _I_ become unhappy until a solution is found. So…please. Let it go.”

The fight drains out of him. “I hate wasting money,” Yuuri says full of finality, a means to prostrate himself for Victor’s understanding. 

It’s a comment that says a lot more than it would seem on its surface. 

Victor’s mouth twists before it clears. His eyes show he gets it—Yuuri only wears Mizuno gear when training or really when he can get away with it because they pay him to. He isn’t like Victor or Phichit with lots of family wealth. While they aren’t struggling—though, it is true the inn isn’t what it was in terms of profitability),—Yuuri at a young age realized his dream comes at a steep monetary price. When UNIQLO, Mizuno, KOSUGI and such came calling, he signed on the dotted lines with the bare minimum of legal and financial advice.

He’s never really talked about this with Victor, but he knows Victor’s aware. Case in point, this moment as the sympathy fills his eyes. “ _Lapochka_ , let’s walk to the Christmas Market not far from here—there will likely be vendors selling similar food. We’ll replace them, alright?”

It’s an uneasy compromise, since it requires spending more money—but it’s the only reasonable way out. “Okay.”

They walk side-by-side instead of hand in hand, and Victor buys a steaming cup of a heated red wine flavored with cinnamon and oranges. Shame begins to fill Yuuri now that the arguing’s ceased, because Victor is right. The time they have shouldn’t be filled with conflict—it should put smiles in their eyes and fill their hearts with warmth. 

Sometimes, money matters less than experiences and time.

Yuuri scans the market, not really minding much else but trying to find a way to salvage their moods. More nuts, yes, but he incessantly thinks back to the display window at Tiffany’s with bands full of diamonds diamonds in yellow and rose gold as well as platinum and silver. “Vitya, your birthday is Christmas Day right?” he asks. He’ll be twenty-eight, Yuuri realizes, and it’ll be their first one together. It has to be special. 

Christmas Day, a day for him to give Victor and only Victor a beautiful, curated gift. For them to share a strawberry cake and a quiet evening alone with soft kisses and celebrations. For the day to be perfect, memorable, a beginning to the rest of their lives—

“Russia’s Christmas is January 7th,” Victor interjects with a distant tone. “I also don’t celebrate it regardless as I’m Jewish.”

Yuuri wants to beg Victor to work with him, possibly by screaming it in his face. “Well…it’s still your birthday!”

Victor shrugs. “It’s too early. We don’t do anything for our birthdays until much closer.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to reply. _I’m trying to say I’m sorry, I’m trying to say I love you, I’m trying, I’m trying, **I’m trying you freaking clod**_. Instead, he lets out a non-committal (yet disappointed) “Mm,” and looks ahead. 

He can see a wince on Victor’s face out of his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t speak either. After a too-long silence he offers Yuuri his drink. “Would you like some? It’s not too sweet.”

“I don’t want any alcohol tonight with the short program tomorrow,” Yuuri says with a polite wave of his hand. 

Victor nods. “Right. You don’t drink during competitions,” he says quietly, as if to himself. It’s Yuuri’s turn to wince, as he too late recognizes the attempt at peace for what it was. He loves him so much, he thinks as his eyes rove over stalls with spices and hot food, independent artisan goods, and—

Open late, just beyond the tents and bathed in golden light, is a high-end jeweler.

Yuuri doesn’t even think before he runs to the display. His breath and fingers smudge the previously pristine glass as he looks. Necklaces dripping with citrine and garnets, oval sapphires meant to adorn earlobes, pearls as far as the eye can see…and pairs of wedding bands and engagement rings. “Vitya,” Yuuri shouts with a look over his shoulder.

Victor all but drops the mulled wine in his rush to join him, though Yuuri’s through the shop’s revolving door. A woman at a counter smiles at him as he rushes towards it. “Hello,” Yuuri says. “May I see your men’s wedding rings, please? Particularly any that come as a pair.”

She smile and pulls out a velvet display with a wide a variety of metal bands. Some have pave diamonds, some are plain, some have patterns engraved into them. Yuuri picks up an elegant yellow gold band—it’s simple, eye catching but not gaudy, and its weight feels right in his palm. “That’s 18 karat gold,” she supplies. “Do you know your sizes?” Yuuri doesn’t know his own, let alone Victor’s. He swallows, but before he can reply she takes pity on him. “Let’s measure you two really quickly. Is this the lucky man?” she asks gesturing to a shell-shocked Victor.

“Yes!” Yuuri announces. He holds out his right hand, the hand Polina wears her rings on. That must be how it’s done in Russia, he figures. It’s better they wear them that way for Victor, he decides. 

She measures Yuuri’s right ring finger, then Victor comes to his senses. He removes his glove and lets her do the same. 

Yuuri inspects the ring a second time, and something on the inside catches his notice. It’s half of something with several points, perhaps a star, engraved on its inner band. 

She notices with a wide smile. “Snowflakes,” she answers. “Half of the snowflake is inside each ring. For the whole engraving, you have to have the set.”

“I’ll take them!” Yuuri says as he grabs his wallet. “Both of them!”

She starts for a moment before rushing to the register. When she returns, she passes him a leather billfold. He opens it, glancing at the receipt: _gold wedding ring (2), 768.94 Euro_. He hands her his ANA credit card. “I’ll pay in installments,” he declares.

“Absolutely, Mister Katsuki,” she says. The payments are divided into fourths, and he walks out with a black velvet box in his pocket and a stunned Victor trailing two steps behind. 

It’s that impulsiveness again, that lack of forethought before his actions that only Victor can inspire. He keeps leading them, though he’s not sure what his goal is until he hears the bells and sees the stained glass. A cathedral, he realizes as he leads Victor inside. A choir sings in Latin, and Yuuri pulls Victor into the golden hour light streaming through rose and blue glass. He opens the box and hands Victor the smaller band, taking the larger one for himself. 

All of the years Yuuri spent counting stars and the rotations in his forward-entry jumps…they’ve led him here, to this moment, to pulling a glove off Victor’s right hand. His cheeks burn hotter than a volcanic eruption, and his hands cannot stop shaking. He tries to speak. “Um, thank you for…everything up until now,” he rambles with a voice that shakes like it’s new. “Please…wish me luck in the Grand Prix Final.”

His heart is in his throat, bared to Victor for him to rip out should he so please. He’s terrified and vulnerable, he cannot stop trembling as he slides the ring on Victor’s finger. He can’t swallow without feeling like his mouth is made of a shattered bottle, and he hates himself a little for not just saying the words _please marry me_ like he so desperately longs to. He wishes the sentiment of bestowing a ring in a church is not lost, that he’s finally safe requesting forever, not just until they go home.

Victor’s eyes do not, have not, and will not leave his own now-bedecked hand. He takes the second ring, lifts Yuuri’s right hand, and slides the matching band on. Yuuri’s vision blurs and he stupidly can’t still the tremors in his body. “You should skate the way that you love best,” Victor says. “You should show your love to the world, just like always.”

Yuuri thinks he should be disappointed that Victor didn’t explicitly make this moment a betrothal, but his voice is so full of love he can’t find the energy. Victor strokes his skin, lingering over the ring that went on as natural as breathing and falling in love, and Yuuri can finally meet his eyes. Their hands are palm to palm, and Yuuri kisses him. 

It’s probably the best kiss they’ve ever had. Yuuri likes their first one a lot, Victor’s personal favorite is the kiss after the Quad Flip in Beijing—but this, in terms of sheer quality, of breadth of love and depth of joy…this is by far their best kiss.

Everything’s melted away but them, but this moment. Yuuri smiles shyly when they part. Victor’s answering joy is like the sun. Their arms wrap across each other’s shoulders, Victor taking half the bags this time, and they walk out of the church together as if they’ve always been joined at the hip and heart. “Should we find a spot to eat?” Victor asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri answers. “That sounds perfect.”

As the city darkens and the street lamps come to life, he tries to find a way to ask what he truly meant. Victor kissing his temple distracts him for a while, at least until a woman’s squawking pulls him out of it.

Squawking he’s heard his whole life. “Mari? Minako?” he asks the two women freaking out by a teahouse’s front window. They explain to him that they want to have a conversation with Yuri and Otabek, who are sharing tea. Otabek hangs on Yuri’s words as he delivers some wild story with a bright, genuine smile on his face. He looks his age, brilliant and pure, like he did when he gave Yuuri the birthday pirozhki in Moscow. 

Yuuri hesitates. “I don’t know—they look like they’re enjoying themselves as it is. I’d hate to interrupt.”

Victor grins. “Pardon me,” he says with a slight bow as he walks into the tea shop. 

“Wait—Vitya—“ Yuuri tries to call him back. He talks to them once inside, Yurio rolling his eyes and Otabek looking polite. They notice Yuuri, Minako, and Mari. Yuri makes eye contact with Yuuri, and Yuuri pretends he doesn’t notice Yuri’s slight flush and how quickly his eyes dart back to Otabek.

Victor has his phone out when he returns with Otabek and Yuri. “Hm, Chris isn’t answering…” he says with a subtle wink to Yuuri. Minako’s made her affection for his friend clear on over a dozen occasions, and indeed she squeals when he mentions his name. Yuuri shrugs and texts Phichit. 

_Hey come meet up for dinner—my sister and Minako are with us, plus Yurio and Otabek. We’re all going out together._

It takes an atypically long time for a reply. _I’m kind of tied up right now._

 _Come on, please? It’ll mean the world to Mari and Minako._ Yuuri tries a second time. _We’re going to Los Caracoles. It’s not far from the hotel._

Another delay before he gets told _You owe me so big right now._

Yuuri’s not quite sure what that means besides that he won. “Phichit’s going to join us.”

Victor frowns at his phone. “I still can’t get ahold of Chris.” He offers a smile at Minako. “My deepest apologies.”

Minako shrugs, though with visible disappointed. “I appreciate you trying.”

The restaurant seats them on the heated patio at a table for eight. When Victor, Minako, and Mari order beer, the server brings them a few plates of tapas. The women are basically wrecks, trying not to openly weep and making vague exclamations in Japanese that boil down to _we’re not worthy_.

A hostess shows Phichit and—oh good! Chris stands next to him with a happy smile and bright eyes. Minako makes a sound only Makkachin can hear.

However, Phichit looks like the human avatar of a thundercloud. “Yuuri. Can I have a word please?”

Yuuri has no idea what he’s done, because the last time he got that tone it was from losing Stephane for thirty-six hours until they found him on top of Yuuri’s closet door surveying his newfound kingdom. Yuuri scoots out his chair and follows Phichit far enough they’re out of earshot of their friends. “What’s wrong?”

Phichit covers his mouth for a second and takes a deep breath. “Not all of us live in the same house as our boy, Yuuri. Some of us aren’t even on the same continent. Some of us live in Bangkok while they’re in Basel. Some of us haven’t seen said our bae _since Beijing_ because of this fact. Do you get it?”

Yuuri longs for this mortification to end his life. He drops to all fours on the ground. “Oh God I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t even—“

“Oh a _dogeza_!” he hears Victor excitedly exclaim from the table. “Those are so neat,” he tells their dining companions as if two are not intimately familiar with the protocol behind one.

Phichit sighs. “Just think next time, okay?” He helps Yuuri off the ground, dusting him off and then walking back to the group. Phichit sits in between Chris and Yuuri, favoring the former with a sweet grin before reading the menu. None of the competitors order alcohol—-though in Yuri’s case, he couldn’t if he tried. They bicker between themselves for a while about which dishes to share: prawns, snails, a second paella. Though the rest of them, Yuuri can’t keep track.

The night ends up being incredibly high-spirited. Minako asks Chris question after question and Phichit isn’t put off by or jealous of her interest…rather, he enjoys learning new tidbits of Chris’s life, chiming in to ask more about certain pieces of information. Minako seems unaware, but Yuuri can fill her in later.

Mari, Otabek, and Yuri discuss horror films and bands for a while, with Mari offering some recommendations to Yuri for the former and Otabek the latter. Their food arrives and everyone digs in, though not too hard since they have unforgiving costumes to fit the following evening. 

The subject of the previous Final comes up as four of its competitors have broken bread together tonight. Yuuri sips his sparkling water, listening as Chris talks about a mishap with some broken laces. 

“Yuuri!” Phichit says when the story ends. “Are you feeling better this time?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri admits. “Last year was really hard. I was so scared, even at the banquet I couldn’t even talk to Vitya at all! Can you imagine?”

Victor does a literal spit take. “Uh, Yuuri—“ he manages with obvious disbelief. “You don’t remember?”

Yuuri wipes the beer off his chin with a napkin and a baleful look at him. “Remember what?”

“You had a fair amount of champagne,” Chris supplies with his chin resting on his hand. “We ended up pole dancing together in our underwear.”

Phichit screams his delight before clapping his hand over his mouth.

The blood drains out of Yuuri’s face. “I…did…what?”

Chris is already showing Phichit the pictures on his phone. Phichit snorts. “Oh God, Yuuri. You are such a dirty bird. I knew it!”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “There’s a story to that, isn’t there?”

Phichit’s grin is wicked. “Later.”

“Yeah it sucked,” Yuri chimes in. “You forced me into a crappy dance-off. It was humiliating.”

Yuuri longs for a cataclysmic event to destroy the entire world, perhaps a giant meteor. Nothing less will do. “I don’t…remember anything. I remember Celestino taking me to the banquet and mentioning mini pizzas, and I remember getting a glass of champagne…then there’s nothing until I woke up the next day in my bed.”

Victor’s eerily silent. Why is he so quiet? Why can’t Yuuri remember anything? He scolds himself as he racks his brain. His sister and Minako are being shown the pole dance photos. Phichit won’t stop laughing, Otabek tries to placate Yuri, but Chris zeroes in on Yuuri and Victor’s hands. “Hey—“ he says with a smile. “What’s with the rings, you two?”

Yuuri covers his left hand with his right, realizing his flailing caused the attention.

“You didn’t have those in Hasetsu,” Minako points out.

Victor blinks and holds his right hand to the light, which gleams off the ring like a beacon. 

Phichit stares. Then his eyes burn like comets, and he leaps to his feet. “Congratulations on your marriage!” echoes like he’s talking on a loudspeaker, and Yuuri sputters and flails like he can do the Semaphore code for _SOS_ with his arms. Phichit somehow becomes 10% Thai and 90% megaphone as he turns to the crowd. “Everyone! My best friend and his lover got married today! Please congratulate them—it’s not every day Russia’s Living Legend and Japan’s Ace elope!”

The entire restaurant including Otabek bursts into raucous applause. Chris looks over-the-top happy for them, Mari is stunned, and Minako is the happy medium. Phichit jumps up and down. Yuri’s face is…blank.

Yuuri doesn’t know what to do or say about any of this.

“We’re not married, just engaged,” Victor explains over the din with a smile. “We’ll marry when Yuuri wins gold in two days.”

Yuuri’s mouth turns dry, his heart shuts down, he can’t think—his vision tunnels to the serene, happy smile on Victor’s face, the angle of his hand in the air…though his tone is his _I’m being facetious_ voice.

What’s the truth?

Then Yuuri realizes the celebration’s stopped. He swallows, nervous now for a different reason. None of the other competitors look amused, not even Phichit. Before Yuuri can play it off, a different loud voice shatters the air. “Hold on! There’s only one person getting married and winning gold! And that’s me!”

They turn, and JJ stands with Isabella pressed to his chest. They both smile at them, their expressions matching in bravado and cheer. “That’s right! JJ is going to win, and you’ll all be attending our wedding!” Isabella says.

Victor sighs, puts down enough cash to over the entire meal, and stands. “Early day tomorrow, Yuuri and I are going back.” He takes Yuuri by the wrist with the shopping bags gathered in his other hand, and he pulls him back down the road to the hotel.

“Us too,” Phichit says with a sour look at JJ and Isabella. “We were interrupted earlier.” He takes Chris’s arm, and they start to follow Victor.

Yuri doesn’t dignify JJ with anything except a poisonous glare. He storms out after them while Otabek gives JJ an apologetic shrug before he catches up with Yuri. Minako and Mari finish up the exodus just as irritated as everyone else. 

“Wait!” JJ calls. “I was just kidding! We—“

After turning a corner half a block away, Yuuri can’t hear him anymore, but he sighs anyhow. He’s weirdly stressful to be around; everyone else tends to be more laid back aside from Mickey Crispino.

“Why is he always so much?” Chris remarks. “He doesn’t know how to dial back. Is he unaware decaf exists?”

“No, he does not,” Phichit mumbles. “He ate my leftovers once without asking, and put the empty containers in the fridge.”

“Wow, that’s impressively petty,” Yuri remarks with a note of respect.

“We were in Bruges,” Phichit elaborates. “Do you know how hard it is to find massaman curry in Belgium? Especially decent massaman curry! It’s straight up impossible, and I was stretching the food so I could savor it! Yuuri knows I don’t play around with my favorite food.”

“He doesn’t, you’ll get stabbed if you eat something he’s splurged on,” Yuuri drily remarks as Victor’s hand slides into his. 

Chris laughs. “So _ma peche_ has hidden depths.”

Yuuri whirls without letting go of Victor’s hand. “ _Do not_ ,” he says with a pointed glare at Phichit.

“My dudes,” Phichit begins with a grin. “Funny you mention Chris and ‘depths’—“

“Oh my God you’re all disgusting,” Yuri interjects, the respect for Phichit having vanished.. “Adults are disgusting. I hate all of you.” Something whizzes in the air and it hits the back of Victor’s head. “You most of all, Old Man.”

Yuri’s tone isn’t blustery complaining when he addresses Victor; it’s legitimately bitter, like an amuse bouche made from arsenic. Yuuri never told Victor about Yuri’s crush. 

Oh—this could be awkward.

Victor gives Yuri an ingratiating smile. “You’ll feel differently some day, Yurio!”

Yuri’s face promises only homicide. “Whatever. Come on, Otabek.” He grabs Otabek by the sleeve, and they detour away from the group without even a cursory goodbye, though Otabek looks mildly perplexed at the interplay. 

“Why’d you do that?” Yuuri asks Victor.

“Do what?” Victor responds as he brushes a lock of hair off of Yuuri’s forehead.

It’s isn’t worth an argument—not after they already had one today. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuuri says with sincerity. He squeezes Victor’s hand, and they enter the hotel. Mari and Minako linger outside so Mari can smoke after they wish him well for the short program. They likely won’t see him beforehand—they have to be at the rink long after the competitors, and he won’t be able to sneak away to say hi between all the press coverage and other obligations.

Victor, Yuuri, Phichit, and Chris stand in the lobby looking at each other. It’s a little awkward, but then Chris breaks it by putting out his left hand. “To the victor goes the spoils,” he says with a wry smile.

Phichit puts his hand over his. “May the best man win.”

“Let’s each of us do our best,” adds Yuuri as he puts his ring hand on the stack. Victor adds his last, but he doesn’t say anything…likely he’s aware that as Yuuri’s coach it’ll come across a bit disingenuous. 

Chris and Phichit say their good nights and head to a different bank of elevators, Yuuri and Victor to their part of the hotel. The ride doesn’t take long, and upon entry into their room Victor gentlemanly takes Yuuri’s coat, sliding it down his shoulders and onto a hanger. Once he dispenses of his own in a quicker fashion, he wraps Yuuri in a hug from behind. 

Yuuri smiles and leans back into him with his eyes closed. The hotel room lights are low, but the rings still sparkle.

Wait.

“Vitya—“ Yuuri begins, having to clear his throat since the word is oddly choked. “When you said the gold medal thing, that we’re engaged…”

“Mm,” Victor says, but he doesn’t go further. He kisses Yuuri’s ear, then behind it, then below. Yuuri angles his head down to give him more access, their fingers entwining together so naturally he wonders how he went most of twenty-four years without holding Victor’s hands.

As essential as the hand-holding is, Yuuri has something bigger on his mind. He manages to pull away from Victor, though it’s a near thing as at the best of times Victor is crap at allowing Yuuri further away from him than ten centimeters. “ _Lapochka_ —“

Yuuri walks backwards towards the bed while making a _come here_ gesture. Victor follows, which is still a bit of a shock since Yuuri spent half his existence chasing him—on the ice, in the air doing a quad Salchow, with Vicchan and merchandise and aspirations in the clouds but his hopes going down the drain.

Victor has a gold band on his finger that Yuuri gave him. Yuuri wears the match. Victor looks at Yuuri like he lights up the sky, and Yuuri decides this is it. This is the moment where he thinks he can let go of the idea that Victor’s on his way out the door after their vacation and the Grand Prix Final. 

Yuuri smiles, letting Victor catch him by the belt to roll him onto the bed, his body on top of Yuuri’s like a comforting, safe weight. There are kisses, both slow and urgent, and when the rush, the _need_ is slaked, he lies in Victor’s arms, heart to heart, and he smiles as he whispers, “Aishteru.” Victor’s arms become a little tighter, and he whispers it back to him before the lights go dim and the night turns silent.

Yuuri smiles as he sleeps, at peace before the first day of the rest of his life. 

It’s hours later that the sound of the door closing rouses Yuuri. It’s got to be far too early, since Victor moves around the room as if he’s in stealth mode. Yuuri doesn’t open his eyes, but he stirs and wraps the duvet tighter around his body. He hears Victor draw nearer, and then the bed dips as Victor in only an undershirt and his briefs climbs in. 

Yuuri yawns as his hands wrap around his waist. Victor’s meet against the small of his back, and Yuuri jerks and opens his eyes. “Why are you so cold?” he complains in a voice still patchy from his slumber.

“I went to the shore for the sunrise,” Victor whispers. His cold nose nudges against Yuuri’s temple. Yuuri grudgingly allows it.

“I would have gone with you,” Yuuri mumbles into his throat. He’s still sleepy and sated from the night before. He feels the metal of his ring against Victor’s back. 

“You need your rest, it’s a big day today,” Victor says. “And I needed to do some thinking.”

“What about?” Yuuri wonders.

Victor’s head dips so his face is next to Yuuri’s ear. “I am…far too lucky,” he whispers.

“You worked hard,” Yuuri answers with a large yawn. “You earned all the medals.” He presses closer, his bare chest against the soft, worn cotton of the undershirt. He’d rather feel Victor’s bare skin, but it’ll do.

“No, I’m too lucky because…” Victor hesitates. It’s unusual, uncharacteristic. “How did I manage to get you to love me back?”

Yuuri can’t breathe.

“Whatever it is, I’m so grateful,” Victor continues. “I get to spend my whole life with you, and I’ve never felt so alive.”

When his diaphragm remembers how to work, Yuuri stutters out a hard gasp. He holds Victor close, his eyes burning in the first light of day. He bites back a sob and trembles, because his mental countdown has finally ceased. It halts on _time remaining: 002_ barely before it runs down for good, because Victor’s here to stay by his side with joy and as much love as Yuuri himself feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this, please let me know with a kudos or a comment! Also I'm at [sinkingorswimming on tumblr](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) and [sink_or_swim on twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)!


	14. Barcelona 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Men's Short Programs at this year's Grand Prix Final.

The green room is tense and quiet, a thread of competitive energy bustling through the air giving it an electric charge. Yuuri stands, head bowed and hair gelled back with his black earplugs in as his eyes narrow on the shining black leather of his boots. 

Victor reaches down and squeezes his right hand, his finger brushing over the ring and mesh with slow devotion. Yuuri glances up at him, and as Victor offers a confident smile, he gives him a soft but determined one back. Victor gestures that Yuuri should remove an earplug. He does.

“Are you doing alright?” Victor asks. The words are in English today. The last time Victor asked him this when they were in Moscow, he used Japanese.

His expression turning teasing, Yuuri answers with “ _Comme ci, comme ça._ ”

Victor chuckles. “I need to leave the room if I’m sharing secrets with Christophe from now on, I suppose.”

Yuuri neither confirms nor denies this. He actively tries to ignore everyone else in the room, willing his brain to tunnel in on Victor. Victor in his camel coat over his suit, but no gloves today and both of their badges on proud display in the center of his chest. 

Madam Baranovskaya helps Yuri stretch while Yakov speaks to him in urgent, growling tones. Chris has in earbuds and bops back and forth while Josef nods with approval. Phichit checks his eyeliner wings in his self-facing camera before Celestino hands him a bottle of Evian. Otabek listens as his coach reviews a layout change for his jump combo. JJ grins and bounces while his father gives him advice. 

An ISU official pokes her head into the room. “It’s time,” she says.

JJ files out first, music now playing in his own earbuds and flanked by Alain and Nathalie. Chris comes next with Josef to his right. Phichit is third with Celestino by his side, the two of them only looking forward with matching smiles. Otabek follows them, then come Yakov, Madam Baranovskaya, and Yurio. 

Bringing up the rear like a point man on a heist comes Yuuri, his mouth in a serious moue and his eyes narrowed like he takes aim with a rifle. Behind him by four inches walks Victor in his Ferragamo Oxfords, much quieter than the reverberating echo of six pairs of skate guards on tile.

The crowd roars, the announcers not-quite-audible over the shouts and cheers. Without his glasses, Yuuri narrows his eyes to make out the flags for their home countries. The arena is full of handmade banners in Japanese, French, English, Russian, Thai, Kazakh. There are people holding toy bears, poodles, cats, cows, hamsters and…chibi-JJs, he thinks as he squints.

Yuuri sighs.

They keep the jackets for their federations on. Yuuri removes his blade guards and is the first out trailed by the other five for the six-minute warm-up.

Today is the first day of the rest of his life.

The pleasantry and dithering of the yesterday is gone—some are still laid back yet focused, like Chris and Phichit. Some are honed in like a laser like Yuri and Otabek. JJ warms up and pauses to play to the crowd, which they eat up.

Yuuri turns inward, giving his new layout a few mental run-throughs. It’s mostly same as it ever was minus the ending 4F with the potential for a +3 GOE. Victor was concerned when Yuuri mentioned adding it, then changed his song when Yuuri out-debated him. 

Yuuri goes first because Yuuri is the finalist with the lowest qualifying score. The others exit, with one tapping Yuuri on the back as they whizz by; a black jacket with THAILAND in yellow font moves farther away, and Yuuri smiles though Phichit can’t see.

Turning towards the rink and the audience, Yuuri unzips the JSF jacket while holding the collar in place with his teeth. Victor slides it off his shoulders like a woman’s gown in a seduction scene from an old film, and he neatly folds it next to the Makkachin tissue box. 

Yuuri looks expectantly at Victor just when he reaches out, holds Yuuri’s right hand in his, and presses a long, open mouthed kiss to the ring. Yuuri lowers his gaze with a deep flush on his cheeks. “You know you can do it,” Victor whispers. “You’ve improved this program every time.”

Yuuri looks at Victor, smiles, and nods with his hand displaying the ring. He pauses to stroke his cheek and skates to center ice. He pauses while they announce his name, pressing the gold to his lips in an indirect kiss to his beloved. 

_I will make you proud,_ Yuuri thinks. _I will make **myself** proud._

The guitar begins, and he moves. He can’t see the look on his own face, but he skates the program. It’s precise and graceful—nothing off beat, nothing out of place. He will skate this better than he ever has, and he will get married, and he will get to keep Victor as close as can be. It needs to be perfect, there’s so much riding on this besides him winning gold, and it very nearly is…but then he barely manages to stay on his feet during the 4F, having to put a hand down to ensure he doesn’t crash completely.

The song ends, Yuuri poses, and he knows. 

He _knows_.

It was all wrong—it was off, it was so incredibly off. The motions, the timing were just short of flawless, but it wasn’t even close to right. There was something missing, something lacking and…wrong, if he’s being honest. On top of that, he botched the 4F. Yuuri drops to his knees as he swallows down a cry of frustration, leaning forward and beating the ice with his fists.

It’s not enough. 

It won’t be enough.

_He’s not good enough._

Yuuri gets up with slush on the knees of the leather-look spandex as he forces a smile and waves to the cheers around him. He picks up a stuffed onigiri and a stuffed dog that looks like Vicchan as he exits the ice. Phichit is set to go next, and Yuuri doesn’t even meet his gaze as he puts on his blade guards and lets Victor help him into his jacket. 

Victor’s smile is strained at its corners, and his eyes aren’t full of heat the way they usually are when Yuuri skates “Eros.” Victor pats his cheek, and the ring feels like a threat, like a brass knuckle about to shatter his heart like the bridge of someone’s nose. “Come, lets go to the Kiss and Cry.”

Yuuri nods and grabs his water bottle. He follows him after taking a moment to catch Phichit’s eye and mouth _chock-dee-na_. Phichit hands Celestino his jacket and gives Yuuri a wink before skating out in a flash of glimmering gold and scarlet. 

They sit on the bench in the Kiss and Cry. Yuuri sips his water, and Victor offers him a smile. He doesn’t say anything, and Yuuri sets his water down. In his lap, disguised by his warmup, his hands will not stop wringing together.

“The score for Yuuri Katsuki after the short program—“ They both look up at the Jumbotron. “Is 97.83!”

About twelve points less than Moscow, just shy of ten shorter than Beijing. Yuuri swallows around a jagged rock lodged in his larynx. Victor stares at the numbers with an expression Yuuri doesn’t know how to read—it’s blank, unmoved. 

Even a year ago when he assumed Yuuri was a fanboy and not a fellow competitor, Victor held more warmth in his gaze.

“Well, the Free Skate matters more,” Victor says. “You can close the deficit there.”

His voice is flat and disappointed. He sounds like Yakov after the Free Skate in Moscow. He did his best, but it’s not enough. Their marriage, their future is conditional on something that may be impossible, and Yuuri watches his dearest dream begin to unravel, falling apart like antique lace beaten down by time and too much sunlight. His fondest wishes follow suit.

He looks at Victor, a silent request for help, for guidance, for affection for anything at all. He gets a stilted smile and his water bottle. “Get some more to drink,” Victor offers. “You’ll need the hydration later.”

Yuuri forces the flirty smile on his face. “Is that a suggestion for later? Maybe…an out of the way bathroom like China?”

Victor clears his throat. “The press, Yuuri. We have to give them our attention.”

It’s like slipping on a familiar, comfortable mask. Yuuri feels his eyes grow dull, his smile causing him actual physical pain. The show must go on. The show always has to go on.

Victor helps him stand, but it feels perfunctory today. They head backstage and from there it’s questions, flash bulbs, the same answer worded five different ways. Yuuri thanks his fans, promises success tomorrow, smiles, tap dances on a high wire without a net.

At some point…he has no idea when, which is alarming in and of itself…but he stops hearing Victor’s answers. He turns to his left where he stood, and he’s—

He’s gone.

Victor’s gone. Victor, who refuses to leave him to the press, who fields questions for him since he still defaults to stumbling sometimes, has left him in the middle of press backstage at the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri’s eyes hurt, and he manages to not completely blow off the reporter as he dashes off to find him. He pulls his glasses out of his jacket pocket and walks as fast as he’s able without causing a scene.

“Vitya!” he calls. “Vitya!” Victor is not backstage, in the green room, in the rest rooms, in the locker room, or anywhere he logically should have gone. Yuuri runs up the stairs back to the arena, and he sees the back of a familiar Burberry trench. His soul feels lighter just from this small thing. “Vitya, I’m so—“

Victor doesn’t even turn to his voice. He may as well have not spoken. 

Yuuri feels something sour in the depths of his stomach. The crowd roars over the rush of blood in Yuuri’s ears and the Earth goes on turning, but in that moment Yuuri starts to see that he’s always been right. He tries a second time. “Vitya?”

Victor hears him this time. “Yuuri?” He smiles. “Let’s sit up in the stands with the girls, yeah? I’ve actually not done that since I was in juniors.”

Yuuri’s smile cracks a little more than five minutes ago. “Okay.”

They climb up to the nosebleeds reserved for the competitors and in a row sit Emil Nekola, Mickey Crispino, Mila Babicheva, and Sara Crispino. “Yuuri! Victor!”shouts Emil with an open smile that almost pains Yuuri. “Great job, Yuuri! You were awesome!”

Victor doesn’t offer any agreement.

“Thanks,” Yuuri manages with a look at his fiancé. 

“You did look really good,” Sara says. 

“Yeah, way to go, Coach,” Mila teases Victor. 

“Thank you,” Victor replies with a smile. Yuuri sits in between him and the others. Small talk and chatter are exchanged while the ice is cleaned up a bit for Yuri, the next competitor. He skates onto the ice in gleaming silver and white, the announcer calling his name and the title of his program. 

The crowd hushes as the music begins. 

It’s perfect. 

It’s perfect from the first movement. Yuri’s always a flawless technical skater, but this time he seems to truly understand the concept of unconditional and supportive love. Every gesture, spin, and jump is filled with a delicate affection as though he’s giving a gift to someone truly precious and deserving. It’s one of the most beautiful skates Yuuri’s seen in person — no, it’s one of the most beautiful skates the entire world has witnessed. 

Victor marrying him and a gold medal just slipped that much further from his grasp. 

When Yuri finishes and joins Yakov and Madam Baranovskaya at the Kiss and Cry, Yuuri tries to find something, anything to say. He dawdles so long, Yuri’s score is announced.

Yuri Plisetsky is now the World Record Holder for the highest score in a men’s solo short figure skating program. Victor has been bumped down to second best.

Should he comfort him? Yuuri looks at Victor, at that same marble-like look in his eyes as he reads the numbers on the Jumbotron. He should hold his hand, tell him he’s still number one to him. He should…anything at all, really, but all he can think is _now I won’t win gold which means he won’t marry me_ , and so Yuuri simply says nothing.

Chris has a difficult act to follow. His music starts, and he knocks it out of the park. It’s flirty and sexy, a near-flawless short program. It’s like a fire’s been lit within him, determination and finesse all at once. 

Yuuri worries more, doubts gripping him tighter than ten minutes ago.

“He’s always so good at this,” Victor says with delight. “Chris always captures the mood of his choreography like no one else!”

It feels like a dig. Yuuri looks at Victor, but Victor doesn’t notice, too taken by his friend’s skating to register Yuuri’s existence. Before Yuuri can say anything, leopard Vans kick the shoulder of his chair, obnoxiously taking up his personal space. He gives Yuri a look.

“Problem, Katsudon?” Yuri asks, blasé and arrogant in turn.

Yuuri sighs and shakes his head. “Congratulations, I guess.”

Mila says something in Russian to Yuri, who immediately brushes it off with an eye roll. Then his demeanor changes. “Otabek! _Davai!_ ”

Otabek spots Yuri and gives him a thumb’s up with about 15% of a smile.

Yuuri knows next to nothing about Otabek, but he took bronze at Worlds last season like a dark horse. Victor lights up again. “He’s good, you know? He works until he drops, I’ve been told, and he left his homeland to improve so he had better access to solid programs and training.”

 _So did I,_ Yuuri thinks. 

Otabek skates like something from a fairy tale — like Siegfried but on ice instead of grass as he tries to court his Odette. Like Phichit, Otabek seems to care mostly about his country and doing it proud judging from the answers he gave at the group press functions. Unlike Phichit, Otabek seems to have pursuits outside of the ice to fall back on.

Otabek finishes as strong as anyone would predict, and the glimmer of the gold on first place’s medal and Yuuri’s right ring finger diminishes. The sinking weight of reality causes them to oxidize into chalky and green facsimiles of the future they held a single day ago.

JJ is last since he had the highest qualifiers going in, and well…as petty as it is, at least Victor finally isn’t happy about Yuuri’s competition. The ear worm that passes for a short program theme begins and JJ goes. 

Then somehow, defying all reason and logic, JJ pops his first jump.

Victor’s eyes narrow. The others were all talking, but now they’ve fallen silent. Yuri, who by all rights should be laughing, is patently not.

The cameras make JJ’s face the size of half of a house on the screen, and Yuuri recognizes his expression from this exact weekend a year ago. JJ’s panicking. JJ’s cracking. JJ’s falling completely apart in the middle of his short program, and Yuuri almost has to leave from the sudden onslaught of empathy. 

He can still see the photographs of his tumbles and sloppy spins when he closes his eyes. 

No one is laughing in the stadium, but that’s because no one knows what to say. This was Jean-Jacques Leroy’s podium to lose and…well. He seemingly lost it, all right.

JJ finishes. The arena is dead silent. Not even the announcers are willing to break it. He skates off the rink in silence, his mother wrapping him in his red jacket and his father doing his best to reassure him. They sit in the Kiss and Cry, JJ looking utterly desolate, and his score isn’t even in the 90s, let alone enough to keep second or third to Yuri.

It’s a shock that is nothing less than devastating.

At least, until an off-key, off-beat woman’s voice calls out across the stadium. “I can rule the world! JJ! Just follow me; I will break the wall now look at me!”

Everyone tries to find the source, and a camera man is the lucky winner. Isabella Yang stands by the guard rail with tears streaming down her cheeks and her hands trembling like she’s in danger, sings like JJ will die if she doesn’t. 

The fans with Maple Leaf flags and red tops, the ones with Quebecois French on their signs, all join with her in a chorus of strength and cheer. Then more join in, not just JJ’s fans but Yuri’s Angels, Chris’s fans, all of the people with the flags of Thailand and Kazakhstan, Yuuri’s fanbase, anyone who may have been here for Victor. It’s deafening and a ray of light, and after giving the crowd a look of disbelief, JJ rallies. 

For the first time, Victor’s expression towards JJ is civil. Beyond civil; he’s actually regarding him with a great deal of compassion. 

Their day old rings feel like a burden Yuuri can never properly bear. All the words that have been said of Holy Days next fall, meeting his mother, how Yuuri hopefully will never retire…they’re lovely words, they’re words that made Yuuri happy in the moment.

That’s all they were, though. 

Words.

A woman watched her fiancé falter and spiral down into self-doubt, and she went in guns blazing to lift him back up. Yuuri gave a disappointing but still probably decent performance, and Victor can’t even muster a token compliment, subjecting Yuuri to praise about his competitors the whole day. 

Yuuri wants two things: he wants the gold medal, and he wants Victor. One cannot be without the other. His mouth feels like sawdust and his heart is heavier than lead. 

How could he be so foolish as to believe he could give Victor anything he needs?

_——-_

Yuuri doesn’t remember much of the last hour between the conclusion of the short programs and their arrival back at their hotel. Questions, reporters, flashbulbs like earlier. Victor handing him his equipment bag, not helping with his laces this time. Victor holding the door to the cab for Yuuri but sitting six inches away.

“This was such an amazing day!” Victor says. “I’d forgotten how incredible it can be to observe the competition! Everyone’s abilities are so individualized —- I had no idea Phichit is such a consummate performer! He was breathtaking! I’ve seen that song so many times but I don’t think anyone can ever top Phichit’s interpretation.”

Yuuri tries to think of the last time Victor was this into his own skating. Beijing, when he tackled him after the Free Skate. Little moments here or there, but Beijing was the last obvious public surge of it.

“Yuuri?” Victor asks. “We’re here.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says as he climbs out of the cab after Victor. They manage to get to their room mostly unscathed. It’s quite late, and Yuuri should probably eat but the mere thought makes him sick. 

“I think I’ll shower,” Victor says as he hangs up his vest and blazer. “May I go first?”

“That’s fine,” Yuuri replies. “Just — when you finish, can we talk a bit?”

Victor smiles. “Of course, _lapochka_.” He gives Yuuri a kiss (the first one all day, Yuuri can’t help but note) and strides into their mostly glass bathroom. 

Yuuri changes into a gray and black tracksuit Mizuno gifted him for the Final. He sits on the bed by the window and goes through his camera roll. Makkachin has his own folder just like Vicchan did, so he begins there. A sand covered grinning dog, the poodle struggling to keep a raw squid pilfered from a guest, a ball of brown-gray curly fur with closed eyes, happily snoozing in a patch of sun. 

Yuuri uploads all of them to his cloud and then batch deletes them. He won’t lose them forever, he can’t bear that, but he’s about to say goodbye to a second beloved dog in a year. It’s too much to open his phone and see them.

The plan at the beginning was as follows: Victor takes part of the season off to be Yuuri’s coach, Yuuri qualifies for the Final, in theory Yuuri wins gold. Once Yuuri wins gold, he retires and Victor goes back to his real home, to Yakov and the FFKKR. 

Yuuri opens the Victor folder. Pictures of them together, awkward in the beginning but warmer and brighter until the most recent ones from last night. The softness of Victor’s voice in the morning when he’s half asleep. The way his eyes gleam when it’s after dusk. All of these beautiful photos of Victor caught with his guard down, his natural silliness and joy radiating off the screen. 

The Tanabata selfie has been Yuuri’s wallpaper for a while, and he changes it back to Vicchan. The lock screen is Victor combing his hair the night the triplets spied on them. It takes a full two minutes of hovering before Yuuri swaps it to a picture of him with Vicchan from the night before he left home.

The Victor album moves to the cloud, vanishing off his phone hard drive. His hand shakes after. 

The plan was always get gold, send Victor back to Russia, find a quiet purpose in retirement. Yuuri was never supposed to fall in love, nor Victor as well. Yuuri was never supposed to wear a ring, to lose his virginity, to buy flowers for someone, to learn Russian and meet someone’s mother. He was supposed to still sleep in his own bed, practice his skating and work hard, win gold, go out on a high note. 

Life happens. Sometimes love is part of life happening.

Victor looked happier today watching the other skaters than he has even when he’s told Yuuri that he’s happy or proud when they’re alone. Victor wants to go back, but this ring Yuuri gave him will mean he stays. Victor’s that kind of guy, to be sure — he promised their entire friends’ group and part of Yuuri’s family they’ll wed upon receiving a gold medal, but it was simply a joke to give their friends a little guff before a competition. 

There is nothing Victor wants more than to skate. 

The best, kindest gift is his freedom, just like Yuuri understood in Moscow. He’ll skate his best in the Free as a farewell, a proper goodbye and thank you. It might shatter his heart, he may cry the whole program, but it’s time. 

It’s time.

Yuuri opens Instagram, scrolling down his feed. A selfie with Phichit and Chris that Phichit captioned with pink, sparkly hearts. Leo took a picture of his Skype call with Guang Hong while Yuri’s program is captured in the shot of his screen. Another Husky pic from Seung Gil. Emil and a grudging Mickey at Sagrada Familia. 

Footsteps pad across the carpet in fluffy white slippers. Victor plops on the window ledge with a towel rubbing through his still-wet hair. He has one of the hotel’s robes on that perfectly matches the slippers. 

“Huh, Minako is out drinking with Ciao Ciao,” Yuuri says.

“I don’t know if he can keep up with her,” Victor says. He drops the towel. “What did you want to talk about, Yuuri?”

Yuuri sets his phone face down on his thigh. He clenches his free hand to hide the tremors. The smile he wears is closed, and he’s sure there’s visible despair in his eyes. He swallows. “After tomorrow…let’s end this.”

As his eyes widen, Victor manages nothing more than the word, “Huh?”

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Vitya,” Yuuri continues. “Thanks to you, I was able to give everything I have to my final season.” He bows in respect, his gaze properly lowered and closed. “Thank you for everything, Vitya. Thank you for being my coach.”

When Yuuri opens his eyes, they’re aimed at the floor and Victor’s slippered feet. A drop of water lands on one. Yuuri sits up with visible shock. 

Victor weeps without reservation or stealth, his tears falling out of his eyes in rivulets. He’s beautiful, Yuuri thinks. He’s so unfairly beautiful even like this, and defying all mathematical principles, Yuuri falls deeper in love. “Vitya?”

“Damn,” Victor manages, his voice subdued. “I didn’t expect Katsuki Yuuri to be so selfish. Such a selfish human being.”

Selfish? Yuuri doesn’t want to make it harder. “Right. Yeah, I made this…selfish choice on my own. I’m retiring effective tomorrow, and you’re going back to Russia. It’s better this way.”

Victor’s eyes aim downward, and the tears don’t stop. It’s the first time he’s ever cried in front of Yuuri, and like a curious child, Yuuri brushes back Victor’s forelock. His eyes look like the sea when he cries, even more than normal. Maybe a calm, warm lagoon, or the water of a desert oasis.

“What are you doing?” Victor asks. He sounds numb.

“I’m surprised to see you cry,” Yuuri answers without thinking.

“I’m mad, okay?” Victor snarls as he shoves Yuuri’s hand away from his face. 

Yuuri jolts back. “You were the one who said this was temporary! Just until tomorrow! You said it, so I’m…I’m honoring the deal.”

“I thought you loved—“ Victor chokes. “I thought you needed my help.”

“You’re going to make a comeback!” Yuuri says. “You can’t come back as a coach! Not in Japan, not in Hasetsu! This is for you! It’s anything but selfish!”

“You gave me a ring,” Victor says. “You gave me a ring, you — you finally want what I have for so… _you gave me this ring_!”

“Well, now you’re free. You can put yourself first! You’re not…” Yuuri falters before he regroups. “You don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’m not your responsibility. I fended for myself for 23 years…I’ll be fine.”

“I won’t!” Victor really is angry, Yuuri sees. His voice is louder than usual, frantic and aggressive. The light in his eyes has been replaced by a spark like a volcanic eruption. “You want me to return to competing when you’re retiring? You want to dispose of me, of everything we’ve built and go back to your old ways like it’s nothing?”

He grabs Yuuri’s shoulder, roughly, almost violent, and Yuuri can’t help but wince as he tries to pull away. It must return Victor to reality, because he lets go and sits back down on the ledge at a respectable distance. 

Yuuri avoids Victor’s gaze as he cracks his knuckles. They sit at an impasse, and then Victor stands and speed walks to their wardrobe. Yuuri stares at his pale, distorted reflection in the window across from where he sits. When he gathers himself enough to look, Victor’s in his FFKKR team jacket and a pair of warm ups. He has his skates and his phone and without even grabbing a heavier coat, he leaves with the door slamming in his wake. 

Yuuri never got the chance to stop him. Having never seen this before, he has no idea what to do. Victor probably needs room and space. He took his skates so he may go do some figures to blow off steam.

Yuuri picks up his phone. _Are you around? I need to talk._

Phichit doesn’t reply. The better part of an hour passes, and Phichit doesn’t answer while Victor doesn’t text or return. When Yuuri checks the time, he realizes Phichit was likely asleep. Crap.

He needs to talk to Victor more anyhow. Yuuri puts on the maroon scarf they share between them and his gray cat-eared beanie hat. At the last second, he remembers to grab his badge, and he returns to the arena. 

It’s quiet like a church, the only people present the skeleton nighttime cleaning crew, and Yuuri checks the locker room just in case Victor might be done. It’s empty, so he tries the Green Room next, then the rest rooms, and then finally he hears a familiar melody from the rink itself. The song features a woman crooning over a piano, a popular song from when he was in middle school that now fills him with dread.

_Hand me the world on a silver platter, and what good would it be? With no one to share, with no one who truly cares for me… Some people want it all, but I don't want nothing at all, if it ain't you, baby. If I ain't got you, baby—_

Yuuri walks to the rink, barely managing not to run or call out for Victor. The song ends, and a new one starts just as he climbs the same stairs from that afternoon, ending up at the guardrail. 

The new song, the next one, hits him so hard he almost gets sick.

_And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist…well darlin’, you are the only exception —_

Victor goes air born, lands a clean quad Lutz. He glides across the rink like his skating is sadness itself. He can't have been practicing this before now --- when would he have? He spends every waking moment with Yuuri in Hasetsu, so he would have seen it for sure. 

_Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts, and we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face. And up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness…because none of it was ever worth the risk. But you are the only exception —_

Triple toe-double axel-triple loop combination. Every move is perfect as though he never took even a single day off, but Victor's choreographing this on the fly. Why _this_ song, though? There's no reason for it.

No. No, Yuuri sees with nausea and horror creeping on him. No, the reason why this song is obvious in retrospect. Yuuri always thinks he's the singer in this piece...but maybe Victor thinks that it's the opposite.

_I've got a tight grip on reality, but I can't let go of what's in front of me here. I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up…leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream —_

_Oh, and I’m on my way to believing!_

Victor finishes, visibly exhausted and shattered. 

Yuuri was so sure so little time ago…he loves Victor, but Victor needs his freedom. They have no time left. Victor doesn’t…he just doesn’t _see_ it. He’ll go back to skating, and Yuuri will retire, fading into obscurity while Victor excels, gets his records back, gets more medals, goes down in history secure as the Living Legend. 

Yuuri left with a band of gold, tarnished like that time Victor loved him, fleeting though it was. Fairy tale endings, like crossing stars on the wings of birds for love, do not exist for him. 

Yuuri knew better.

His heart splits in two as he exits down the stairs, turning a corner in the dim lighting. He detours to the restroom, rinsing his face with cold water from the faucet. Eventually the door opens, and Yuuri looks up to see Victor. 

Victor’s been crying again it seems; the streaks down his face are newly wet, and his eyes look more pink than white. He looks like he’s lost every battle, every war he’s ever needed to win, and Yuuri wavers on his decision. He fumbles to speak for far too long before rasping out, “Why?”

After staring, Victor shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds scraped raw. “I want what makes you happy,” Victor begins. “Above all, above my own wishes…the only thing I want is your happiness. If that means letting go, parting ways…then I will not fight you. I will abide by your request.”

It sounds so final. Yuuri begins to shake and his own eyes blur, welling up with bitter, painful tears. 

“The only thing I will say,” Victor says, “is that should you follow through on your retirement, you will do both yourself and the sport a grave disservice.”

Victor grabs his things and leaves Yuuri alone in the washroom. Is it better or worse he didn’t argue a second time? Is it better or worse he skated to a song Yuuri thinks goes one way when Victor thinks it’s the opposite? Is it better or worse Victor looks like he’s aged a hundred years in a day from one conversation?

Yuuri checks his phone, and Phichit still hasn’t answered. He could try Mari or Minako, perhaps. None of his options seem right. He takes the long way back to the hotel with his hands in his pockets, playing the Victor-themed playlist he didn’t remember to delete with the photos filtering through his earbuds, and before he knows it, he’s crying as he walks through Barcelona.

_I run away when things are good, and never really understood the way you laid your eyes on me in ways that no one ever could. And so it seems I broke your heart; my ignorance has struck again. I failed to see it from the start, and tore you open 'til the end —_

He walks into their room, which is dark. The curtains are drawn, there’s a Victor-sized lump in the far bed, and Yuuri sits on the closer one as he doesn’t undress further than taking off his trainers and his glasses. He powers down his phone, plugging it into his charger. He becomes keenly aware the room isn’t actually silent, that Victor is awake and trying not to audibly sob. 

Yuuri debates for a minute or two before he lies on his side at the very edge of the bed he’s taken. The gap between them isn’t even four inches, and he reaches out, putting a hand in between Victor’s shoulders. Victor stills for a second, but then he changes his position so they face each other. Yuuri didn’t move his hand, and now Victor adjusts it so it rests against his ribcage. He used his right hand, and Yuuri feels the cool gold against his knuckle.

Yuuri weeps without making a sound, and Victor shudders around his sobs, neither of them moving towards each other, though Yuuri can’t help but notice that Victor has met him halfway for a final time. Neither of them sleep for what seems like hours, Yuuri waiting until he’s sure Victor has dozed off to allow himself to follow suit. As he lets the darkness take him under, the echoes of the last song he played fill the emptiness in his head.

_Sorry to my unknown lover, sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me. Sorry to my unknown lover, sorry I could be so blind…didn't meant to leave you and all of the things that we had behind._

_And someone will love you, someone will love you, someone will love you…but someone isn't me…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs that you need to reference and all of them are on [the Playlist:](https://open.spotify.com/user/12168581471/playlist/6BbTZWJiIpOsFYYPuMbw2o?si=A29pz0BYSf-b525k78TbUg)
> 
> -"If I Ain't Got You" by Alicia Keys  
> -"The Only Exception" by Paramore  
> -"Sorry" by Halsey
> 
> I teared up a few times when I wrote this. If you want to talk about it, by all means. Just please don't yell at me. We have six more to go before we're completely done with this tale. There's a lot of time to turn things around.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm around on [Twitter and ](http://www.twitter.com/sink_or_swim)[Tumblr!](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) Come say hello. Also if you like this, please leave me a kudos or a comment!


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